


Dead or Alive (To Torture for My Sins)

by MidnightRedHead



Series: Sick or Sane [7]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Loki (Marvel), Hurt Peter Parker, I didn't kill the Avengers, Infinity War can still suck it, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Precious Peter Parker, Sick Loki (Marvel), Thanos Sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23166349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightRedHead/pseuds/MidnightRedHead
Summary: Loki disappeared with the Tesseract during the time heist. He ended up somewhere very different than where he had intended with someone he didn't expect.
Relationships: Loki & Peter Parker
Series: Sick or Sane [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/969081
Comments: 34
Kudos: 255





	Dead or Alive (To Torture for My Sins)

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, after nearly a year, I've finally finished this ginormous piece. I truly didn't mean for it to be a novel. It got away from me. Sadly, it is only part one. Yes, there is a second part. The cliffhanger is mild, I like to think. Hopefully, the Loki series won't premier before part two is done. 
> 
> Any and all grammatical errors are mine own. No BETA this round. She has a life and this is a monster of a one shot to request her to review.
> 
> I did take some liberties with tech, characters, and settings so please keep that in mind. 
> 
> Happy reading!

Eighteen days.

Eighteen deep grooves in the stone wall. 

Eighteen shattered bowls.

In all likelihood, it had been longer. He had started keeping track the first morning he was functional enough to think, when a small beam of sunlight had managed to sneak past the rubble of the poorly constructed prison in which they were keeping him. He wondered what the outside actually looked like. He could only venture to guess that the location was isolated. Aside from the occasional thundering wail of an aircraft, all he could hear were the sounds of wilderness. 

There was no way to know how far they had traveled. Once the onslaught of tranquilizers had taken him down, he had been kept heavily sedated, only able to gather his bearings once he had been dumped in this pathetic excuse for a dungeon. The inside of his cell was dark and damp, puddles of stagnant water below where part of the wall had crumbled. The large metal door had but a single sliding window that would open once per day for food and water to be delivered. 

He always drank the water, though it was discolored and left a peculiar aftertaste. The food, however, was another story. It resembled a porridge but smelled of sour milk. He had tipped the bowl to his lips the first day, immediately spitting out what little had managed to spill onto his tongue. The bowl shattered easily against the stone, though he had tossed it carelessly. It hadn’t been his wisest decision. His cell now reeked of the disaster they were trying to feed him.

Given “food” and water once per day was not their only kindness. He was also removed from his confinement to visit the privy once per day—twice, if they were feeling especially generous.They also used this time to calibrate and test their equipment. He scowled at the bracelets adorning his slender wrists, suppressing his seidr. As it was a part of him, they could merely mute it. He could still feel it, writhing in his core, but he couldn’t reach it. He had tried to remove them the first day, but that led to his second accessory. As much leverage as hindering the magic of a god gave these fiends, it was the collar that he abhorred the most. He was granted a warning of one quiet _beep_ before the band around his neck would activate, leaving him convulsing on the floor. As he lay there, he wondered why it felt so familiar. He would see his “family” and their insouciant stares. They would watch his suffering with general disinterest before they would always turn to leave. He never called out for them. Why would he? In the end, he would remember they were never there. Only men in black jumpsuits. Only mortal men. 

Sometimes, they were quick to chain, gag, and blindfold him, and the device would be deactivated. Other times, they stood and watched; placed bets on when he would lose consciousness or whether he would even need the privilege of the restroom afterward. Fortunately for his pride, anyone betting against him never saw victory. He was led with poles that attached to the shackles placed on his wrists and around his waist, enabling his captors to keep their distance when he wasn’t subdued by the collar.

The only deviation in this routine were the nonspecific instances when they would bring him to a room that reeked of disinfectant; a poor attempt to cover the raw, metallic pungency of recently spilled blood that _still_ managed to fill his nostrils. He could always hear drawn out moans and cries of anguish filtering through from outside the room. He wasn’t alone but could not hear them from his cell. He was being kept some distance from the other captives. _Curious._

It was always hard to hide the flinch when his back met the cold metal table through the paper-thin black shirt he was forced to wear. The light above was bright enough to pierce the blindfold, confirming his suspicions that he was in a lab of some sort. The procedures were always the same, but the outcome was always different. Blood would be drawn, his vitals monitored, and then something injected into his neck. Sometimes he would feel nothing; other times, his very blood felt like molten lava in his veins. He would writhe in agony for hours, but they would only observe him for minutes. He was thrown back in his prison to endure the remainder alone.

Thankfully, today had not been one of those days.

He had been left to stare at that mocking beam of sunlight—alone. Solitude had demanded he regard his thoughts, as much as he tried to avoid them. His mind felt fractured; soiled. He had failed in his conquest of Midgard. He had been chained and muzzled and led away by his not-brother, who had been determined to deliver him to his not-father to face punishment. During their departure, an incident and a series of bizarre occurrences had led to a certain infinity stone sliding to a stop conveniently next to his boot. _Of course_ , he took it. The Norns had smiled upon him! 

Except they hadn’t.

When he had called upon the power, it enveloped him; transported him through space as he had intended—but the portal did not reopen. A disturbance had jarred him to his very bones, twisting and pulling at the fabric of space. Someone was meddling with powerful forces and he had been caught in the fallout. The cube would not respond and, weary from battle, his seidr could do little to harness the power in any attempt to control it. When sweat had spilled over into his eyes, he had closed them against the sting, grip tightening on the blue glow. 

He had been unceremoniously expelled onto what appeared to be a battlefield and had remained on his back, disoriented and weak, staring into the smoke-filled sky. The cube lay on his open palm, stretched out from his body. He had no idea where he had ended up, but it definitely was not where he had commanded the stone to take him. It had been quiet, the battle seemingly over. After several long moments—and several more calming breaths—he had rolled onto his stomach, momentarily releasing his hold on the glowing block. It had taken effort to push himself onto all fours, and he hardly made it to his feet before he heard the distinct sound of boots pounding the gravel and debris. He had turned, unsteadily, to find more than a dozen men with weapons trained on him. At first glance, they had appeared to be SHIELD, but they hadn’t been, had they?

“Step away from the tesseract.” A man in a suit had demanded, looking entirely out of place amongst the soldiers.

His emerald gaze slid over to the cube, and he quickly called upon the plummeting reserves of seidr to summon the object to his hand. The man barked the order again, but he was given little time to react. There had been a _pop_ and then a sharp sting in his side. He had looked down to the dart lodged perfectly between his ribs and pulled it free with a snarl. It had burned but seemingly nothing more...until he took a step. His head had just begun to swim when a second dart was fired into his abdomen. He yanked it free and tossed it aside with a cry of frustration. How had they been able to pierce his leathers? Curling his lip, he gripped the cube with both hands and prepared to make another jump. Several _pops_ in quick succession preceded an onslaught of burning pain. The world spun and, just as he had mustered the last of his seidr to cache the tesseract in a pocket dimension, he had been certain the ground met his cheek. It was cold and something like gravel bit into his skin. He had seen the polished black shoes of that strange man before the darkness around the edges of his vision crept in further and he had known no more until waking up in his current accommodations.

Green eyes rolled toward the ceiling, dust and pebbles raining down as an aircraft drew near. He didn’t bother getting up, he knew the small aperture in the foundation offered a very limited view. Running a hand over his face, he leaned back and let his head bounce against the wall. There had to be a way out, and he would find it. 

He was the God of Mischief, after all. 

* * *

Loki had just finished marking the 20th day with a piece of stone when the window on the door slid open to for his food and water to be delivered. With a casual expression, he strolled over and picked up the cup, draining it and placing back on the platform. The bowl, he picked up and crossed back to where he was usually perched, tossing the container sideways as he walked. It crashed into the far wall and shattered in a spray of slop and ceramic. The platform withdrew moments later, the window closing. 

He would be lying to himself if he said he was not hungry. In fact, he was famished. His stomach was a constant rolling complaint, so empty that he ached inside and his head throbbed. He knew his captors would assume that he'd ‘eat when he was hungry enough’, which only meant they were not aware of how stubborn the God of Mischief could be. He would sooner starve than eat what they served.

Loki laid his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, attempting to calm his thoughts. He needed to focus and find a way out. There was always a weakness to exploit and finding the soft spot for the dagger to penetrate was his specialty. He needed only bide his time and they would make a mistake.

He hadn’t even realized he had fallen asleep until a familiar yet dreaded sound startled him. He had barely forced his conscious mind to prepare for the shock before it came, rendering him a twitching, writhing heap; fire coursing through his veins. They were mercifully quick this time, blindfold and shackles applied before they yanked him to his feet using the poles. He stumbled, just barely subduing the nausea that gripped his stomach like an iron vise. Swallowing hard, he focused as much as his addled brain would allow. _Right turn._ Loki began to count the steps, walking as straight and normal as possible though his equilibrium was desperately off. _42 steps._ He was shoved into the small bathroom with all poles removed save for the one at the small of his back, only remaining on his feet because there was no room to fall. He made quick work of emptying his bladder, wishing he could wash his hands. He would honestly love a shower but would settle for hand-washing. He was yanked back, standing still as the poles locked back into place. 

“Hurry up, they’re already chomping at the bit today with that new kid raising such a fuss.”

Loki was pulled to the right, still facing the privy. He started his count as they urged him forward.

“Where is he now?”

“Fuck if I know. Probably making sure they didn’t fry his brain. They finally got the suit of ‘im but they had to use electricity. Crazy thing came off and folded into like a little cube or something.”

 _Interesting._ The dark haired god listened in between steps, thankful for the fog lifting from his mind. It was to be short lived. _59 steps. Left turn._ Loki cringed when the chemical smell made his nose burn inside. Today was one of those days. 

He was led forward, all poles disconnecting with the exception of the ones connected to his shackles. He felt the pole on his right shifting, forcing him to turn to the left. When it straightened again, Loki’s hip bumped into the metal table he had come to loathe. 

“Well, then, come on. You know the routine.”

He still hesitated. The pole to his right was jerked roughly, the unexpected move throwing him off balance. He snarled but still obliged, angling his hip and raising his leg to slide onto the table. It was elevated this time. _That’s new._ However, the same metal restraints inched across his throat, chest, thighs, and ankles. Once his shackles were removed, one last metal bar slid into place over his waist, locking his hands at his sides. Electrodes were placed on his temples and neck, just under the neckline of his shirt, and the insides of his wrists and ankles. He had learned during the first encounter that they monitored his vitals and brain activity. The pinch of a needle being inserted in the crook of his left elbow came next, blood being drawn.

“Did that kid ever talk?”

“No, but they never do the first time.”

There was laughter surrounding him that made Loki both nauseous and furious. The day when he could slit their throats and listen to them choke on their pleas for mercy could not come soon enough.

“Just like this one.”

A gloved hand grabbed his chin. It took every ounce of willpower he had to hold his tongue.

“Just look how compliant he is now.”

His mind raged while his expression remained the epitome of stubborn composure. _I’ll cut out your beating heart and shove it down your throat!_

“Not compliant enough. Subject 13.” Another voice off to his right. “Sample 62, trial 912.”

Loki clenched his eyes shut, for he knew what came next. The cold metal against his neck, just below where the restraint hugged his skin. There was a _pop_ and a _hiss_ before the large needle punctured his flesh and filled his veins with whatever concoction they had managed to create that day. This one was instantaneous, lava entering his skin and bubbling up in his veins. His teeth were clenched together with such force, he unconsciously feared they may shatter. He could distantly hear his own hissing breaths, much too fast as was his heartbeat, a fierce pounding in his head that seemed to have no beginning or end. 

“Systolic blood pressure is 210 and rising.”

“This is the one. It _will_ work.” The man in the suit. When had he arrived? “Subject 13, where is the tesseract?”

“Core temperature is 104.8, sir.”

“It’s going to _work_ ! Subject 13, _where is the tesseract_?!”

Loki could no longer hear them, trapped in the nearly unbearable agony as a result of their experiments. He writhed on the table, twisting under the restraints when a blood-curdling scream pierced through the veil of pain. He never realized that the sound had been torn from his own throat before the darkness swallowed him.

“He’s seizing!”

David Thurston straightened his tie and turned toward the white coat-clad personnel, seemingly unfazed by the convulsing body on the table. “Any word on the Stark tech found in the boy’s suit?”

“None, sir.” One scientist answered while jerking his chin toward Loki. Another quickly rushed over and began calling out orders to the others in the room, bringing about a buzz of activity over the prone god. “The suit has Stark security protocols and every attempt to bypass them has failed thus far.”

Disappointment was evident on Thurston’s face. “Try harder.” Spinning on a heel, he waved dismissively toward the table. “Don't let that one die. We need that cube.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

He _felt_ dead, that much was certain. He felt too hot, too heavy. He was in motion but his feet were not moving. In fact, were they even still attached? He fought to open his eyes, managing mere slivers after a small struggle. It hardly mattered. The blindfold was still in place. The small amount of pale gray flooring he could see was quickly passing underneath him. Add in the pressure under his arms and the sound of boots marching on either side, Loki quickly deduced that he was being dragged. He wasn’t even shackled. How foolish these mortals were.

As soon as he could control his body again, he would show them how imprudent it was to have underestimated him. 

He groaned as tendrils of pain snaked out from the where the serum had entered his neck. His muscles involuntarily spasmed in an attempt to alleviate the deep ache, his body twisting to escape the pain. There was a muttered curse before he was roughly dropped on one side, face smacking the unforgiving concrete.

“Be still, asshole!”

He could feel the grip on his bicep as he was again lifted and the path resumed.

“So, they think this is a good idea?”

“Who cares? Maybe they’ll kill each other and then it won’t be our problem anymore.”

The door to his cursed cell opened— he’d know that sound anywhere—and the blindfold was ripped off as he was tossed inside like a bag of garbage, immediately curling in on himself. He opened his mouth to scream at his handlers. Any blasted retort would have sufficed, but all that came out was a whimper. The door slid closed, shrouding him in darkness.

“Hey, mister, are you alright?”

 _What in the Nine?_ Loki rolled onto his stomach and lifted his head, feeling it sway as if too heavy for his neck to hold. A shadowed figure was against the wall—in _his_ spot. It appeared to be a Midgardian child, but his normally keen sense of sight was currently impaired. Lacking information about his new cellmate, he remained silent.

“You don’t look so good. _Are you?_ Cause if you’re hurt or something, there’s not much I can do, but I can sure try.”

 _How can you see in utter darkness, fool?_ His mind spat as he dragged his body across the floor and toward the corner. He stopped, nearly there, and rested his forehead against the cold floor. How pathetic he must appear.

“Did they do something to your voice? You look like a talker but you’re not, y’know, _talking._ ”

Loki pressed on, clutching the wall once he was close enough. He pulled himself up to collapse sideways against the surface, breathing heavily. The kid was obviously no threat, so he allowed his eyes to slip closed only to double over in a coughing fit barely a moment later. 

“You’re really hot.”

Dull green eyes snapped open to find the kid directly in front of him with a hand hovering in front of his face. Loki’s hand snapped up to grab a thin wrist, feeling the bones shift under the pressure of his grip. Did this child have no sense of self preservation? 

“I mean, a fever—ow—you’re hot with a fever. Can you let go, please?”

“Do not touch me.” Loki rasped, wincing at how weak he sounded. 

There was a moment of silence before the stranger responded. “Yeah, okay. No touching. Got it.” Loki let go. He could tell the kid was rubbing his wrist and could see as he looked around their cell before looking back to him. “Where are we?” A beat. “And what is that smell?”

The dark-haired god began to grind his teeth. “We are prisoners and _that_ is what they will attempt to feed you come tomorrow.”

“What do they want with us? I haven’t done anything, man. Not unless they’re after me because of that extra milk I took from lunch last week. It was just one time! They can’t just give kids like me portions that small and expect us _not_ to want more.”

If the kid really _could_ see that well in the dark, Loki hoped the dramatic roll of his eyes was clear enough. “Experimentation is what I gather from my pleasant stay.” He drew up his long legs toward his chest as best he could. “You’re mortal. One would hope the food will kill you before they begin their prodding.”

“I don’t plan on being here that long. I’m not sure how I ended up here in the first place.”

Loki’s mouth twitched. “Do you ever stop speaking?”

“Not usually. It gets me in trouble sometimes. The name’s Peter. Peter Parker.” 

He didn’t look toward Peter but something told him that he would find a hand extended. The optimism, misplaced as it was, was refreshing. 

“And you are?” 

Loki didn’t answer, closing his eyes while struggling to even his breaths with the constant burning behind his ribs. The serum was still tearing through his system, sending white hot jabs of pain to various locations of his body. He never felt Peter move away; He merely noticed the absence at his side sometime later in the night as a violent involuntary twitch woke him from his not quite restful slumber. He turned, his body stiff, until his back pressed flat against the wall, the cold seeping through his thin shirt to rival the heat radiating from his skin.

“Anything I can do, mister?”

Loki opened one eye and sought out the kid. “Why, yes. Could you open the door and tell our captors that our lodgings are not up to par and we demand recompense?” His head was beginning to clear. He raised a hand to eye level—both open and attempting to focus—and flexed his fingers, finding his movements, though still painful, were not as uncoordinated. His hand dropped heavily to his lap, eyes drifting shut as his head thumped lightly against the wall.

“A simple ‘no’ would have been cool.” Came the quiet voice from across the room. A beat of silence passed before the sharp _clack_ of pebbles hitting the far wall signaled boredom had sunk its teeth into the younger male. “You never told me your name.”

Loki sighed. “Because it is of no importance. One or both of us will be dead soon.”

“Speak for yourself. I don’t plan on dying _anytime_ soon.” Peter countered, throwing another pebble. “So, just humor me?”

 _Norns help me._ “I am Loki of nowhere, son of no one.”

“Loki, huh? Where have I heard that name before?” Peter threw yet another pebble. “Maybe it’s not the name.” _Clack._ “Maybe it’s that you talk like this guy I know.” _Clack._ “He’s a god from somewhere in space.” _Clack._ “His name is Thor.”

Loki tensed, nearly choking on a breath. “How do you know Thor?” He hissed, suddenly once again suspicious of his cellmate. He quickly realized his mistake. It was a weakness in his armor that he couldn’t afford. His only concern (aside from escape) was to keep Thor as far away as possible and if this kid had a link to the thunderer, he was a threat. Despite the protests of his body, he moved away from the wall, leaning forward to narrow his eyes. His vision was somewhat improved, able to make out some of the features on the boy’s face. Brown hair and a slim build; he appeared to be an ordinary child. What did the man in the suit want with Peter? How was he associated with Loki’s not-brother?

“How do _you_ know Thor?” 

There was a distinct pause; a hesitance Loki knew Peter had picked up on but he capitalized on it regardless. “How did you end up here?” He glanced at the kid from the corner of his eye and found him to have faltered with a pebble poised in midair. Thankfully, he released the rock a moment later, seeming to accept the change in subject—for now.

“I was dealing with normal after school crap. Car thieves and this guy stole a poodle puppy from the local pet store. I mean, it was a _puppy_. I thought catching the bad guy was hard. I had to chase that dog for nearly an hour and on the way back to the pet store, he peed on the front of my suit. It’s not like I can just send it out for dry cleaning or something like—” Peter snapped to attention when Loki cleared his throat. “Right. Sorry. After that, I saw some shady activity near the old Stark tower when I was heading home. I barely touched the ground before these guys were on me. Those are some mean tranquilizers. Pierced right through my suit.”

Loki recalled his surprise when their weapon had pierced his own armor, furrowing his brow. It’s like these people—whoever they were—were prepared for someone of his caliber. “You mentioned a suit.” He probed, straightening a bit further as the pain continued to slowly seep from his muscles.

“Yeah.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck nervously, as if debating on sharing more information. “I’m not sure Mr. Stark would approve—”

“Stark.” Loki snapped. His fingers curled into fists on his thighs. “ _Anthony_ Stark?”

“You know him, too?”

 _Damnit._ Another slip-up. Was he off his game? No, it had to be the serum. “He’s not exactly discrete in his endeavors. I am certain everyone knows him.”

“Oh.” Peter nodded once and then again. “Right. Well, I mean, I know it’s only been a few weeks but since Thanos, Mr. Stark’s been more… behind the scenes.”

Loki's heart stopped. _Thanos_. “How do you know that name?” 

“Whoa, hey, calm down.” 

Loki realized he was now looking down at the boy. When had he stood? His legs trembled to hold his weight, still not fully recovered from the effects of the serum, but adrenaline fueled him and he remained upright. “Tell me!” 

“Alright, alright. Just... sit down. You’re freaking me out. Be cool. Chillax.” Peter’s hands were raised placatingly, but his posture was tense. Loki remained a moment longer before returning to his spot in the corner. Once he was seated, he nodded for Peter to continue. “Dude, how long have you been here?”

“Do not attempt to change the subject.”

“No, no. I’m not. It’s relevant, I swear.” 

The god eyed him suspiciously but Peter continued to await a response. “This will be 21 days, give or take.” 

Peter’s eyes went wide and he struggled around words. “21— How do you not—” He paused and once again nodded. “You were part of the ones that disappeared—like me. That would explain why you don’t remember.”

“Disappeared? Remember what?” Loki was growing frustrated. None of this was making sense. Thanos had not yet been to Midgard. How did this _child_ know of the Titan? He had revealed nothing himself during his brief capture. 

“The snap. Big, purple, raisin-looking guy made half the universe go all dusty like he was listening to Queen or something. Ring any bells?”

Loki felt his stomach roll, the nausea gurgling and churning in his gut though he was empty of anything to expel. “How—” _He_ had the tesseract, encasing the space stone. The snap would require _all_ the stones. There was no way Thanos could have continued without finding him first. He tried to reach for his magic, a narrow, painful pull at the power buzzing in his core that he couldn’t quite grasp. Still, he tried again and again until he was dizzy. Was the cube still in his possession? Could Peter be right? No, it was—“Impossible.”

“That was over 5 years ago.”

“Five years.” Loki repeated somberly, turning his head to stare into the darkness of the cell and purposefully away from Peter. “What—” He swallowed hard, his throat working silently for a beat. “What year is it?” He was slowly piecing this together and though he didn’t understand, something told him that this child would be able to provide the missing details.

“2023.”

If Peter truly could see well in the dark, he would have seen all the color drain from the god’s face. He was missing 11 years. There was only one explanation: the tesseract—the disturbance as he had tried to escape custody. It _had_ to be that. “Tell me everything you know.” He hadn’t meant for it to sound so pleading. 

Still, the kid hesitated. “Look, man, I’m not sure how much I should go into this. You seem like an alright guy even if you are a little pessimistic and dramatic, but I don’t know if you’re—”

“Thor is my brother.” Loki offered before he could stop himself. He needed the information Peter possessed, and while he was loathe to admit it, Thor was his best bargaining chip at the moment. 

“You can’t be.” Peter stated matter-of-factly—so much so that Loki flinched with indignation.

“And why is that?”

“His brother is dead.”

That gave him pause. Loki wasn’t sure if perhaps Thor had just never shared the story of the Chitauri’s attempt on Earth with the kid. Peter would have only been around 5 years old, after all. Or perhaps… it was more than that. What, he did not know, but he intended to find out. “Surely you know of the Chitauri invasion.”

“Yeah.” Peter scoffed. “Of course. I mean, I was just a kid but it’s still a big deal.” The god could almost _feel_ his cellmate’s eyes widen. “ _That’s_ where I know that name!” He exclaimed with a snap of his fingers. “Thor’s brother lead the attack, but he was just a puppet. Thanos was the head honcho.” 

Loki felt ill. “How could you possibly know that?” The trembling of his hands intensified and he began to worry at the palm of his right hand with the nails of his left. Loki suddenly felt the urge to put an end to the conversation. He could find the answers on his own later.

“It’s old news.” There was a tone to Peter’s voice that hinted at suspicion. Loki needed to get to the point.

“Then you would know that I was most certainly _not_ as dead as he believed me to be.” There was a moment of silence before the kid laughed. Not laughter of amusement but more like disbelief.

“Thor’s brother was killed by Thanos _right before_ the snap, man. Try again.”

Loki’s stomach lurched and this time, it was impossible to stop the outcome. He dove to the side, away from where they sat, retching aimlessly as his stomach was empty. When the violent cramping had subsided, he was left panting in the darkness, his thoughts racing. He stiffly moved closer to Peter, desperately clutching at words in an attempt to continue the conversation. The truth, Loki decided, might be his only alternative. “21 days ago—or however long it was before I was _here_ —I was being detained by my bro—by Thor and his merry band of Avengers, along with SHIELD. Stark had an episode and somehow, the tesseract was freed from its case, sliding to a stop conveniently by my boot. I harnessed the power and attempted to escape.” He paused but Peter said nothing. “Travel by the space stone is usually instantaneous and untroubled, but that was not the case. There was a….disturbance. I was deposited on what appeared to be the site of a recent battle, which was certainly _not_ my intended destination. Before I could even begin to gather my bearings, I was approached by the same individuals who brought you here.”

“Oh man.” 

“Am I to interpret that as you believe me?” Loki asked carefully.

“Uh, yeah. I kinda _have_ to believe you.” When Loki shook his head in confusion, Peter continued. “Okay, I’ll tell you what I know, but most of it is only what I’ve been _told_ . I _was_ snapped for 5 years.”

Loki couldn’t be sure how long he listened to Peter’s rendition of the events of the past 11 years—along with the occasional side story that the kid seemed to be unable to stop himself from telling. By the time he was hearing of the final battle against Thanos and his army, that small, jeering stream of light was peering through the opening in the wall. The details of the infinity stone time heist matched up perfectly, even if Peter was only recalling from what Stark and others had told him. Loki was truly in an alternate timeline—where his other self had apparently been killed in an attempt to save his not-brother and outwit Thanos. 

He couldn't wrap his head around the questionable actions of his alternate self. His anger with Thor was soul-deep, spurred from a lifetime of inferiority. Even without the influence of the mind stone, Loki was still bitter and furious. He would never _kill_ Thor—not while in his right mind. Wounding him, however, was completely different, as was leaving him to his own devices when it came to his own life being on the line. What had happened that changed this other Loki so much? The one question that Peter couldn’t answer.

“I don’t know much about you and Thor, honestly. We’ve talked but not much and only after the fight with Thanos. Mr. Stark says he’s different now.”

Loki wanted to inquire further but decided against it for now. Thor had survived the mad Titan and that was all he needed to know of his not-brother. Beyond that, he had an entirely new set of problems. He was still a war criminal with an infinity stone where they should no longer exist. If—no, _when_ he escaped, he would need to disappear and fast. “You mentioned a suit.” Loki probed again, immediately cognizant of the tension that suddenly enveloped the boy. The god pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger in obvious irritation. “You were on another planet and present during the battle with Thanos, even carrying Stark’s no doubt gaudy imitation gauntlet. You can see rather well in the dark and your bones did not snap like kindling under the force of my grip.” When Peter remained quiet, he pressed on. “You are here because you have something they want, be it this suit you refrain from speaking of or the source of your unique physiology. Both, most likely. You are clearly something more than a Midgardian adolescent." He waited, regarding the boy's hesitance with oppressive silence. Loki was no fool. Peter would not be there if he were normal, but the question was: could Loki use this to his advantage? First, he had to know about this suit.

The answer was not what he was expecting. 

"I'm Spiderman."

The god's brow knitted, face scrunched. "I beg your pardon?" 

Peter sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face as if this admission were the biggest and best kept secret in Midgardian history. "Spiderman. I'm him. I mean, yeah, I know I'm just a kid and it's not what you're expecting. How does a kid end up with superpowers and a suit built by Tony Stark? Well, let me tell you—"

The child spoke as if Loki should know anything of this alter ego, though his unreadable expression shifted as Peter continued to ramble, tension drawing up his back and shoulders. "Your suit is Stark technology?" 

“Yeah. I mean, it wasn’t _all_ his design. I had a hand in some of it.”

Loki had stopped listening. If Tony Stark had designed the young man’s suit, the inventor was truly invested in the boy for whatever reason. He would be tracking the suit and was undoubtedly close to finding where they were being held, if not already in route. If Loki could not escape before Stark arrived, SHIELD’s containment cell would be his next humble abode. 

“Hey! Earth to Loki! Are you even listening?”

  
The god reared back when Peter leaned in closer to get his attention. “No.” He answered simply. 

“Wow. Must be hard to make friends with an attitude like that.”

Loki scoffed and stood, unsteadily. He swayed for a moment before placing his palm against the wall, keeping it there for balance as he made his way back to his corner. “I have no need for friends, Mr. Parker.” He turned to place his back flat against the stone and slid down, his legs barely strong enough to control his descent. 

“ _Everyone_ needs friends.” Peter had relaxed once again, back to throwing the pebbles. 

“It is that foolish sentiment that will be the undoing of your kind.”

The pair sat in silence over the course of several hours. Loki slept on and off out of pure exhaustion. Each time he awoke, he scowled, berating himself for appearing so weak in front of a potential enemy before using his bouts of consciousness to study his cellmate. Peter appeared to have remained awake and kept to his side of the cell. The young man had ceased his previous activity and drew up his long legs to rest his chin on his knees, staring into the darkness. Loki briefly wondered, _if_ they survived, which of them would go mad first. 

He had just nodded off again when the window on the cell door slid open, the platform entering with now two bowls and two cups. Peter all but ran to retrieve his while Loki slowly rolled his head toward the door before opening tired eyes. Was it even worth getting up for the meager amount of water? He attempted to swallow, his tongue thick and dry in his mouth, and the decision was made. The god stood slowly to stumble toward the door.

The last experiment had left him feverish and parched, not to mention weak and dizzy in the absence of the pain. He picked up the cup and tipped it to his lips. There was barely enough to serve wetting his throat, much less quenching his thirst. He placed the cup down, coughing into his fist before he picked up the bowl. If he was being honest, he was almost hungry enough to consider eating the slop. _Almost_.

Peter flinched when the bowl shattered against the wall, almost spilling his own food before he had a chance to take the first bite. The boy gave Loki a look of incredulity. “Man, was that necessary? I mean, yeah, I’m sure it tastes like a dirty sock but it _smells_ like a jock strap. Smelling it while it’s fresh is bad enough.” He made a face after tilting the bowl to his lips. It took a few moments before he audibly forced himself to swallow. “Okay, yeah, it’s disgusting but it beats slowly starving to death.”

Loki waved him off as he made his way back to his perch. “My body is not as frail as your mortal one. I can survive much longer without food.” He drew up his knees once he had sat down, draping one arm across them while he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. His head still ached. He was hot and yes, his stomach _did_ cramp with hunger. However, that could _not_ be his focus. He needed a plan.

“You’ve been here nearly a month, Loki. I mean, you’re all godly and shiz, but how long _can_ you go without food?”

Loki began to rub his temples, eyes closed. “Do be quiet, Spiderling.”  
  
“Spider _man_.” 

The god flinched to hear Peter’s voice so close, opening his eyes to find the boy standing directly over him. “What?” He replied, brow knitted. His frown deepened when he noticed Peter had both water cups in his hands.  
  
“It’s Spider _man_ , but you can just call me Peter, you know?” The kid tilted his own cup to pour half the water into Loki’s empty one before offering it to the man. When green eyes narrowed at the offering before flickering up, Peter sighed. “You look like you need it. Don’t be offended or anything, but you don’t look so great.”

“I do not need your _pity_.” The god spat, turning his head away. He had shown enough weakness for a lifetime. Peter scoffed, earning a glare snapped in his direction.

“It’s not pity. It’s common sense. If you’re already down from whatever it is they’re doing to you, it’d be pretty dumb to add dehydration on top of it.” He looked like he wanted to say more but thankfully, he stopped there.

Loki pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes flickering between the offered cup and the boy holding it. As much as he was loath to admit it, Peter had a point. “I will be fine once I regain full use of my seidr.” Loki took hold of the cup even as he closed his eyes, mentally cursing. Why did he find it so easy to speak openly in front of Parker? Could it truly be a part of what his captors were attempting to achieve? They _did_ want the tesseract, knowing full well that only _he_ could provide the knowledge of its whereabouts. The cup trembled in his grasp, lessening only slightly when he brought a second hand to steady it.

“Seidr?” Peter tested the word, tilting his head while backing toward his previous seat. “What’s that?”

Loki kept his face neutral, masking the panic that always bubbled up when he spent too much time considering his lack of seidr. He searched it out, feeling it stir behind a blockade. He dared not pull at it. The slightest tug caused a searing ache in his chest, leaving him light-headed. He was already weakened. “A form of magic.” He answered quietly, sipping on the gifted water.

Peter pulled another face as he emptied his bowl. “Magic? So, you’re like a sorcerer?” He sat the bowl on the ground, glancing to see the platform still out on the door. “Like Mr. Stra—No, wait. _Doctor._ You’re like Dr. Strange?”

“Who?” 

Peter waved a hand. “Nevermind.” He took a drink, curling his lip at the aftertaste. At least it was enough to mask what the food had left behind. “So, you lost your magic? Do you have like a ring or something that they took away?”

“No, fool.” Loki snapped, looking as irritated as he sounded. “Seidr is not miniscule magic used for parlor tricks. It is _part of me_ ; my essence. It’s as real as the blood coursing through your veins.” He placed the cup on one knee and held it there while he raised his other arm. “They fitted me with these contraptions to mute my abilities and this one—” He lifted his chin to point at the collar, “to subdue me.”

“Have you tried just taking them off?” 

Loki’s expression screamed ‘ _did you seriously just ask me that?’_

“Right. Collar. Dumb question.” Peter cleared his throat. “So, you’re pretty much helpless in here?”

Loki resisted the urge to throw his cup at the irritating child. “I most certainly am _not_ helpless, _Spiderling_.” He hissed, lowering his hand as it curled into a tight fist, nails digging into his palm. “Even without my seidr, I could kill you before you draw your next breath.”

“Whoa, there. Let’s hold off on the cold blooded murder, okay? I wasn’t trying to tick you off. I feel like we can both agree that’s not in my best interest.”

Loki narrowed his eyes and brought the cup to his lips, pausing. “Indeed.” He finished in two long swallows, watching Peter when he stood and gathered his own cup and bowl. The younger man strolled over to Loki and held out his hand for the cup. As soon as Loki relinquished it, Peter sat it and his own on the platform, and they both watched it disappear through the slot. Peter lingered in front of the door, brow furrowed and jaw set, no doubt analyzing it for a way to escape. When Loki saw him extend a hand, he quickly spoke up. “I would very much advise against that.”

Peter withdrew and tossed a questioning gaze at the god on the floor. Loki reached for a small stone shard and tossed it toward the door. When it made contact, there was a _pop_ and the door seemed to come alive, electric surges lighting up the room like Thor’s lightning before disappearing.

“Thoroughly unpleasant.” Loki said casually. He allowed his head to drop back against the wall and closed his eyes. He still felt impossibly terrible.

“Phew. Thanks. Not sure I would have— wait. You got zapped with that?” The one-eyed glare Loki gave him was answer enough. “Wow, how are your brains not soup?”

Maybe he should have let Peter touch the door after all. 

“That had to be like a direct clobber from Thor’s axe.” Peter added as he shuffled back to where he had been sitting.

Loki sniggered and closed his eye. “Hammer.”

“What?”

“Thor has a hammer. Not an axe.” Eyes snapping open, Loki raised his head when Peter chortled. 

“I have a 4.0 GPA, man. I think I know the difference between a hammer and an axe.” 

Yes, he definitely should have let the damn fool touch the door. “Thor possesses Mjölnir, a hammer forged by the dwarves in the heart of a dying star.” 

“No.” Peter drew out the word, either not noticing or simply disregarding the twitch of the god’s eye. “He has an axe. Windbreaker. Wait—” He laughed but quickly righted himself when Loki remained disturbingly solemn. “Stormbreaker! He has Stormbreaker.” He added, “I think Cap had a hammer when we were fighting Thanos, though.”

“The Captain has a shield.” Loki brought up both hands to drag them down his face, letting one fall while the other pushed back and through his hair. This child was exasperating and Loki was tired. Peter was clearly mistaken and there was no desire to continue this conversation further. Even speech was taxing at this point. Clearly, that was not a problem for Peter. The god used this to his advantage. “How did you come to be...what you are?”

Peter told the story. If he noticed Loki had fallen asleep, he didn’t let it stop him.

* * *

Two days had passed since Peter’s arrival into the cell. They never removed the pair at the same time for breaks—or tortures. Loki had been taken again the very next day, though he was fortunate enough that whatever serum they used this time had given him little more than an upset stomach. Or perhaps that was from lack of food. Regardless, he was grateful to not feel any worse.

They took Peter early the second day. Loki could only vaguely recall the look of horror on the young man’s face when they had triggered the collar and Loki’s body had gone rigid, a twisted expression of agony frozen on his face as he convulsed.

“Stop it!” Peter had cried, his voice sounding distant and submerged. “Loki, hang on, man!” Then the hissing slide of the cell door followed by silence. 

Loki wasn’t sure how long he laid there when the pain had subsided and his muscles had relaxed. He panted for breath and stared at the dark ceiling, weak and exhausted. His mind wandered to Peter. What were they doing to the boy? Would he be able to withstand the enemy’s methods? He was, after all, a child. Loki shook his head. What did he care if Peter survived or not? He was most likely already dead. Furthermore, Stark had not shown up to rescue the boy. Perhaps he was mistaken in his assumption that Peter was valuable to the inventor. It mattered not. What _did_ matter was that Loki was running out of time and he was no closer to a way out. His body, though strong and capable, was tiring. His magic was held captive. Eventually, they would find a serum that _worked_. 

He had still not bothered to rise into a sitting position before he heard the faint _beep_ that signaled the oncoming agony. The collar always seemed to tighten around his throat, tendrils of electric pain stabbing into his flesh to enter his veins and wind through his system. His nerve-endings were on fire and attempting to slither out through his pores. After what felt like a lifetime, the assault ended and Loki swallowed down the acid that crawled up his esophagus, his chest heaving and limbs twitching. It took a moment for the gray to filter from his vision and the surroundings to come back into focus. 

“Hey, Loki, are you okay?”

Peter. Peter was back. He sounded different; _pained_ . Loki rolled his head toward the voice and found the kid sitting on a hip, shoulder leaned against the wall while his arms enveloped his middle. The strong scent of blood filled the cell. Rage flared to life inside the god’s chest but he quickly extinguished it. He didn’t care. He didn’t _care_.

“Oh, yeah, he’s fine, kid. Just look at ‘im!” 

He didn’t even have time to register the legs that moved into his field of vision before the boot struck him in the face. His head whipped back and something warm ran down over his lips. Loki could hear Peter shouting but seemed to be unable to focus on the words. Another vicious kick to his ribs, pushing the air from his lungs. By the time he realized he was breathing again, there were other noises going on around him.

“Don’t even think about it, pipsqueak! Back off or I’ll fry his brain!”

Well, that sounded decidedly unfavorable. Loki forced his eyes open to a bleary image of someone once again standing in front of him, but they were turned away.

“If you were going to kill him, you would have done it already!”

Peter.

“Someone pulls all the strings around here and I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess that it's not you two bozos!”

Loki’s vision continued to clear as he pushed up to his elbows, his whole body feeling as if it were swaying. Peter was swaying too, he thought. In front of the kid were two guards. The one closer to the door was holding a hand over his eye while the other brandished a small device, thumb distinctly hovering over the top.

“Jenkins, let’s go, man!” The guard in the doorway dropped his hand from his eye to place it on the other’s shoulder. The swelling around that eye was visible enough to be seen by only the dim light from the hall outside.

“Shut up!” The other—Jenkins—spat, thumb coming down to actually touch the device, just shy of applying pressure. Loki’s stomach plummeted when he realized it was the remote to the collar. 

“Come on! The guy looks half dead! If you kill him, it’s our asses!”

Jenkins showed his teeth, hand shaking. Just when Loki braced himself for the pain, the guard dropped his hand with a curse and pocketed the controller. “Go!” He shoved the unnamed guard through the door and turned once he had stepped out himself. “When they give the word to end your pathetic lives, _I’ll_ be the one to pull the trigger.” 

The door slid shut just as Peter collapsed to sit on the ground and Loki fell onto his back. Neither of them moved for several moments, only their ragged breathing disrupting the otherwise silent cell. After what seemed like hours, Peter gingerly turned, a stiff, full body shuffle that left him facing Loki, who was still sprawled and seemed to suffer no loss of dignity for it.

“You okay?” The boy asked. His voice was much quieter than usual, setting off all the alarms (foggy as they were) in the god’s head.

“I’m fine.” Loki opened his eyes and allowed them to focus in the darkness before he rolled his head toward Peter. The way the kid was folded around his middle hinted toward some bruising of the ribs, if not fractures. His breathing was normal, if a bit shallow, but nothing to indicate a punctured lung. His face was blotched with superficial injuries, nothing quite as serious as the broken nose Loki was now sporting. Regardless, Peter had taken quite the beating. Yet, he seemed more concerned with Loki’s well-being. He had even _defended_ him when it was _clearly_ not wise. _Idiotic human_. “I see you managed to survive. Congratulations.”

Peter huffed a laugh and then winced at the pain it caused. “Thanks for your concern. Don’t worry. I’m good.” Using his long legs, Peter pushed himself back toward the wall and reclined against it haphazardly, looking only partly conscious. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

"Whatever for?" Came the flippant reply.

"Saving your butt!" How could Peter look so angry but still sound so light-hearted? 

“I did not ask for your help, Spiderling!” Loki snapped. He was once again staring at the ceiling and could not be bothered to move from where he was lying prone in the middle of their cell. He knew he was wrong but admitting that was to admit that he _did_ need someone. And Loki, the God of Mischief, needed _no one_. 

Peter tried to sit up but it was clear by the way he paled and his breath hitched that it had been unwise. He quickly returned to his previous position. “You didn’t _have_ to! Friends look out for each other!” 

Loki began to laugh, dry and mirthless with a tinged outline of madness that made Peter’s hair stand on end. The trickster wiped the back of his hand across his nose, smearing the blood there, the pain only fueling the nonexistent hilarity. Finally, the sound died away. “You and I are not friends. You’d do well to remember that.” 

“Don’t you ever get lonely?” When Loki didn’t answer, Peter sighed and shook his head, joining his cellmate in staring pointlessly at the ceiling. “My suit shorted out.” He offered after another few moments of uncomfortable silence. That got the god’s attention. “That’s why Mr. Stark hasn’t come for us.”

 _Us? He hasn’t come for you._ “I see. And how is this to be remedied?” Loki finally forced himself into a sitting position, pressing his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger against the bridge of his nose. There was a sickening _crack_ , but otherwise, Loki never made a sound, making it alarmingly clear that he had done this before. Peter looked appalled.

“Dude.” The boy said, jaw hanging.

“The suit, Spiderling.” Loki pressed with a sniff, wiping the blood on his thigh. 

Peter shook his head and closed his mouth. “Right. It needs to be rebooted.” He repositioned slowly, giving a hiss. The dark haired god watched, expressionless, as the kid struggled to find any comfort in his pained state. Finally, Peter drew up his knees and let his forehead fall against them, his arms pressing against his middle. “I was _right there_ but I couldn’t get to it.” 

Loki did nothing to ease the kid's conscience, but instead fell into his own thoughts. He had little hope of escaping unaided in his pitiful state. He would need to get his hands on that remote, disengage the collar, and remove the bracelets. 

And to do all that, he would need Peter. 

_Damn._

* * *

  
  


No food or water came for the remainder of that day or the next, seemingly punishment for Peter's actions against the guards. Loki barely noticed but the kid had curled into himself, facing away, and remained silent aside from the periodic loud protests of his empty stomach. 

Loki did not inquire of his well-being, though logic would dictate that he should at least _pretend_ to care if he wished for the kid to lend him any sort of assistance. The light sneaking in from the outside was growing dim before he finally relented.

"Spiderling."

There was a twitch of a shoulder but Peter did not answer. The god stifled a snarl and tried again. 

" _Spiderling_."

Peter sighed. "What?" He sounded terrible. No sustenance after such a beating was doing the kid no favors. 

Loki actually felt a twinge of _something_ but refused to name it. "Are you hale?"

Peter raised his head but didn't face him. "Am I what?"

Loki rolled his eyes. "Are you...alright?" He hadn't meant for it to sound _so_ genuine and nearly scoffed at his lack of restraint. 

Peter stayed still for a moment and then laid his head back down. "We're not friends, remember?"

Loki opened his mouth but never managed a word before the _beep_ of the collar sounded. He nearly whined but instead readied himself for what was to come, managing a wry grin when he noticed Peter had sat up and was looking at him. Everything was a blur after that, though he could vaguely remember two guards holding Peter against the wall as they unceremoniously dragged Loki into the hallway. The onslaught continued until the familiar cuffs, blindfold, and poles were in place and he was hauled to his feet. 

The break at the facilities was unusually rushed or maybe it was the way his mind kept blinking in and out of reality. Was his body finally breaking? _No_. No, he only needed a little more time. 

Just a little more—

" _Hey_! Are you deaf now?" A voice that obviously belonged to Jenkins snapped as Loki was throttled roughly by the pole attached to the cuffs. "Get on the damn table!"

Loki could only assume he had obliged the command because next time awareness came was when blood was being drawn. He couldn't keep up; couldn't _think_. The jab in his neck was next and he filtered out again. 

"Subject 13, where is the tesseract?"

There was little pain this time but a pressure on his mind that he was sure he'd felt before; a treacherous magic that had torn down every mental wall he had built over the course of his life so fingers could claw and dig at his darkest depths and pull his secrets free. 

_Not this… They couldn't._

He focused, building barriers without seidr and feeling them tremble under the assault of this Midgardian threat. Some fell, crumbling from the attack, and Loki did the only thing he could.

He screamed. 

* * *

  
  


Mr. Thurston held up a hand when the men in white coats ran toward the now still body on the table. The vitals had slowed to normal after spiking to levels that would have spelled death for a human. There had been a howl from the subject that had made his teeth itch but then silence. 

"Subject 13, can you hear me?"

A beat. 

"I can."

The smile that split the man's face was nothing short of maniacal. "Very good. What is your name?"

"I...do not recall." A small spike in heart rate. 

"No, that is good. I will tell you all you need to know."

The beeping slowed. "Understood."

"Where is the tesseract?"

"Hidden."

"But you know where."

"Of course. _I_ am the one who hid it."

"Tell me where."

"In a dimension between realities. A pocket in the fabric of time and space."

"And you can retrieve it?"

"I can."

"And will you?"

"If it is your command."

"Excellent." Thurston snapped his fingers and pointed toward the table. "Release the restraints. Captain, stand down."

"But sir." Jenkins protested, taking a step. He moved back at the raise of his employer's hand. 

"Stand down." 

Once the metal restraints retracted, the men stepped back as Loki rose to a sitting position but made no further moves. Thurston stepped toward him and reached to remove the blindfold. The god blinked furiously and brought a hand to his eyes, holding it there. Minutes ticked by as fingers slowly parted to let small amounts of light filter through until he could finally drop the hand away completely. 

"Subject 13, you will return to your cell."

"But, sir, the tesseract?" A man standing a safe distance away piped up. Thurston again held up a hand. 

"In due time. We must train his mind now before we trust him with the abilities he would need to summon the cube." He kept his focus on the god. "You will return to your cell and you are not to harm the boy you will find there. Understood?"

"I understand."

"Perfect." Thurston stepped forward and placed a hand on Loki's shoulder, smiling deviously. "I look forward to overseeing your reprogramming." Dropping his hand, Thurston pulled out his phone and began tapping the screen. "Captain, return him. Gentlemen, the rest of you come with me. We have much to report."

Loki's gaze remained forward as the room emptied, save for Jenkins and the two other guards. 

"Do we cuff him?" 

Jenkins scoffed, striding over to stop in front of Loki. He took in the unfocused gaze toward nothing, the slight part of pale lips and the slump to the man's posture. He almost wanted to laugh at how hollow the once proud god now appeared. "Of course." The Captain reached into his pocket and pulled out the remote, waving it back and forth in front of his prisoner. "I still have this, so no funny business." 

It happened so fast that they had no time to react. Loki's eyes cleared and focused, his hand snapping up to snatch away the remote while his head whipped forward to connect with Jenkins' nose. Blood splattered across both of their faces and the man crumbled. 

He didn't stop there, knowing there were two more armed men behind him. He moved with speed he shouldn't possess in his weakened state, grabbing one of the poles used to corral him outside the cell. Snapping it forward and side to side, metal struck metal and he was able to disarm the guards before their weapons could even be aimed. He dropped it when he was within reach, grabbing each guard by the side of the head to slam their faces together. The sound of crunching bone was disturbingly satisfying. 

Panting, Loki wiped a hand across his face, smearing the blood that was both his and that of Jenkins. His body must really be on the verge of failure if he was _that_ winded after such a brief endeavor. His performance had not been _completely_ false. The serum had indeed had an unfortunate effect on his mind, leaving him disoriented and dizzy. He shook his head before looking around the room, easily spotting the small cube that looked too much like the suit of iron for his comfort. He staggered over and picked it up. Remote in one hand and suit in the other, he made to head toward the door. 

"You'll never get out."

Loki looked over his shoulder where Jenkins was reaching for his gun. Quick as a flash, the guard's wrist was snapped back, hand dangling and useless, and Loki was looming over him, teeth bared and hand smothering the man's shouts of agony. When the Captain showed no signs of quieting, Loki relished in the sound of his neck snapping. He would have loved nothing more than to draw out the man’s pain, make him pay for all he had inflicted and the poison his tongue had spewed, but Loki was weakening at a rapid pace and now he had played his hand. Escape was now or never.

Grabbing the dead man's ID and keys, he stood, too quickly it seemed. The world tilted but he managed to stay on his feet, white-knuckle grip on the table. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and pressed on, exiting the room. _Right turn. 59 steps._ He counted each stagger and stumble, only off 2 when he reached the privy on his right. _42 steps and left._

He was fortunate enough to encounter no one on his trek back to the cell. Truth be told, he would have struggled to fend off an attack when he could barely keep his eyes focused. Loki leaned heavily against the wall outside what he hoped was the cell in which he'd been held. The lock was a complex assortment of letters, numbers, and lights above a flat screen with a red line through it. The keys were of no use here. Loki lifted the ID badge and studied it, placing the side with the name and picture on the surface. 

Nothing. 

Swearing in the old language, he flipped it and did the same. The panel gave a long beep and then the door slid open. Loki slid inside quickly, hoping the door remained open since he was not sure how to operate it from the inside. Fortunate again: it stayed. Loki was glancing back at the door as he walked, turning to find Peter immediately in his personal space. The god reeled back, bringing up his hands reflexively.

“Dude, are you okay? How did you open the door? Where are the guards? Hey, you have my suit!” 

The small cube was ripped from his grasp before Loki could answer the first question, Peter already at work, lifting a small piece of metal to expose the circuitry inside. The god backed toward the door, leaning out to look both ways down the hall. “We need to move, Spiderling.”

“Yeah, I know. One sec!” Knowledgeable fingers pushed wiring aside and he pressed his thumb to the flat surface underneath. There was a light as the hidden sensor scanned his print before the suit whirred to life, the nano tech crawling up his arms. The noise drew Loki’s attention, dark brows raising almost comically. The suit inched its way over Peter’s body in a fascinating display of blue and red, finally sealing over his face before the lenses activated and flared to life. 

_“Peter! I’m glad you’re safe!”_

“EDITH! Run diagnostics. Any damage? Can you get Mr. Stark?” Peter walked past the confused god and peeked into the hallway.

_“Diagnostics confirm little residual damage. Dialing Mr. Stark.”_

“Who in the _Nine_ are you speaking to?” Loki, much to his chagrin, was ignored.

_“I can’t establish a connection. Something is blocking the signal.”_

“Keep trying. At least try to give him something to follow here.”

 _“Will do.”_ A pause. _“Peter, behind you!”_

When Peter whirled around, Loki straightened as best he could, eyebrow raised as he watched the kid drop into a battle stance. “You have been here a matter of days. Is your mind so fragile that you have already taken leave of your senses?”

Peter stood, heart rate slowing to normal. “It’s just Loki.”

_“A known war criminal. Presumed deceased.”_

“There’s more to the story than you know. He wasn’t completely to blame for that. Mr. Stark didn’t update all this yet? I’ll have to—”

“ _Spiderling_.” 

A warning.

Loki did not care much to be discussed with the likes of whomever was on the other end of the conversation Peter was obviously having. _Especially_ if it was one Tony Stark. Peter blinked at him behind the mask.

“Right. Just keep trying to reach Tony, okay? We’ve got people to save.” The AI voiced her general dislike of the situation but heeded the command and went silent, leaving Peter to face a now disgruntled God of Mischief. “What?”

“I believe you may have me confused with one of your Avengers.” Loki sneered, shoving the remote into Peter’s chest. “If you’ll kindly figure out how to remove this, I’ll be on my way.” He was pointing to the collar. The kid’s eyes landed on the device and then moved down to its counterpart pressed against his suit before he took hold of it and studied it intently.

“You’re just going to leave?” Peter asked, turning the remote over in his palm.

“I am. You expected otherwise, obviously, but you do not know me, Spiderling. I never do anything that isn’t to my own benefit. Now, do you mind? We’re running short on time.” Loki glanced down both sides of the hall. Their luck was holding for the time being. However, Peter had made no move toward an attempt at removing the collar. “I gave you your freedom. This is the least you can do.” The god argued. Peter found his gaze from behind the lenses of his mask. 

“We’re not friends, remember?” He tossed the remote in the air and Loki caught it, jaw hanging as Peter turned and sprinted down the hall. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. I’ve got hero stuff to do.” 

With an expression somewhere between fury and bewilderment, Loki wrapped his fingers around the thing and turned to stare down the opposite hallway. He should have just killed the kid, though he couldn’t help the small spark of admiration he felt. Peter was defiant and spunky, but the Spiderling was all heart and that would certainly be the end of him.

With one last look in the direction his former cellmate had traveled, Loki sprinted the other way and out of sight.

* * *

  
  


Peter wished he’d had the presence of mind to grab the ID badge. He had not yet found where the other captives were being held but he’d need a way to open the doors once he did. He had heard their cries when he was first brought in and during his interrogations. The pain he could hear in those wails and moans had caused his heart to clench, and he had known then that he would not leave this place without them. When he came to the first door, he began to approach it before he sensed someone close by and ducked back a few paces to hide around the corner. 

Two guards sat at a station, staring at something on the desk in front of them. He couldn’t see it from where he was. What he _could_ see were cells lining both sides of the hall and he briefly wondered how many there were. How was he going to get close enough? 

Oh. 

Right. 

Spiderman. 

Peter scaled the wall with ease, moving with care and silence until he was right above the guards. They were watching video surveillance inside one of the cells. 

A girl.

And she was crying.

She could not have been more than 13 or 14 with dark hair spilling over her arms that were wrapped around her drawn up knees. She was in a pair of unicorn pajamas, suggesting she had been taken from her bed. Who were these monsters? His blood boiling, Peter crawled down the wall behind the men and perched himself on the top shelf of the semi-circle desk. When they still focused on the screen, he realized he couldn’t stand them staring at her any longer.

“Hey.” He hissed, shooting a string of web onto each of the foreheads when they turned. Their shocked expressions weren’t nearly satisfying enough. He twisted his wrists in methodical movements that had been practiced over his time as his heroic alias, wrapping the webbing around his hands to pull it taut. He yanked the men forward and directly into his balled-up fists, rendering them unconscious with unnerving ease. 

Peter hopped down and walked over to the desk. There was a control panel with an unfathomable amount of buttons. Each red-lit button had a letter, A through Z, and then a number, 1 through 30. Did these control the cell doors? Assuming each cell was occupied, that would mean— “Nearly 800 people.”

 _“Yes, that’s right.”_ A little voice inside his head spoke. Peter spun around, looking for the source before he looked back to the screen. The little girl nodded. _“It was me.”_ She was looking at the camera, smiling though he could see the tear tracks on her cheeks.

“How are you doing that?” He spoke aloud before thinking better of it. Could she hear him?

 _“Yes, I can hear you. Your voice and what you’re thinking.”_ She smiled but it didn’t last. _“It’s my special gift… or curse. It’s the buttons to your left. I’m C3.”_

Peter stopped looking over the controls and looked back to the monitor. The girl was standing now, looking up at him expectantly. His fingers danced over the button, hesitant to push it. 

_“I can’t do anything else. I can only hear your mind and speak to it. Please don’t be afraid of me.”_

There was a _thump_ somewhere down the hall that drew his attention for a split second and reminded him that he didn’t have a lot of time. Peter pressed the button. A cell door to the right of the station hissed open and the girl walked out, looking no more intimidating than she had on the monitor.

“Thank you.” Her voice was softer than it had been in his head. She approached the desk and looked down at the guards on the floor, stopping beside one booted foot. She didn’t seem surprised or even afraid, simply stepping over the men’s sprawled legs to stand next to Peter. “I didn’t think Spiderman was someone your age.” She said, pointing to another button. When he looked at her, mouth opening, she smiled. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”

He wasn’t relieved and something told him she knew that, but she didn’t comment on it. It hardly mattered anyway with how much his face had been seen the past few weeks. "I'm Peter." He pressed the button she pointed to and another door slid open, a middle-aged man stumbling out. His eyes were solid black and tattoos began at the top of his bald head and traveled down his face, neck, and arms. It was safe to assume that he was largely inked.

“I’m Beth.” The girl sniffed and pointed to another and then another, Peter not pressing anything she did not point to first. “They had us here because we are special. They were trying to make us behave and do what they wanted.” She tapped her temple when Peter turned his masked face toward her. “I could hear them thinking. They tried to keep me asleep...or in pain, so it would be harder.” People of all ages and genders and apparently species flooded out of the cells. Some ran, others wandered aimlessly. A young boy and girl stood just at the edge of the desk, looking terrified. 

When the last of the cells she had indicated were opened, Peter looked over the several she had skipped. There had to be a hundred or more. “Why aren’t we opening these?” There was another _thump_ down the hall.

“Those are the ones that the medicine changed.”

“That sounds...not good.”

Beth shook her head. Her small hand reached toward the monitor, pressing a button on the switchboard to its left. The cell she had indicated was then live on the screen. The figure was humanoid but deformed. One arm was longer than the other, each finger tipped with pointed claws. The face was elongated with a wide mouth littered with jagged fangs, some missing or broken. The eyes, even on the black and white picture, were dead, white orbs with no shine.The nose was nearly nonexistent, simply a bump with two slits. The creature threw itself against the door and another _thump_ was heard.

“That used to be a person?!” Peter felt ill when Beth nodded. “Okay, we need to get out of here. Come on.” He took her hand and pulled her with him, stepping over the guards when he noticed the other two youngsters still standing there.

“They feel safer with you.” 

Peter groaned with a hand on top of his masked head. “I’m like a danger magnet, guys!” They didn’t budge, the girl fiddling with her hair while the boy stared at his bare feet. “Okay, okay. Come on, we have to go.” The two children took each other’s hands and fell in behind Peter and Beth. Captives were everywhere, trying to break windows and kick in doors. He felt his stomach clench when he realized there was no way he’d be saving all of them.

“EDITH, any luck with Mr. Stark?”

_“No. I am unable to obtain a signal outside of the structure. Something is actively blocking me. I’ll keep trying.”_

“Can you pull up the building schematics? Find us a way out?”

_“I can scan the immediate infrastructure and try to guide you.”_

“That’ll have to work!” Peter slid to a halt and rocked back on his heels and into Beth as two adult men stormed across the hall with a metal bed frame, attempting to break the barred window. They were unsuccessful. "We have to get out of here; find a place to lay low until Mr. Stark gets here." The girl’s hand still in his, he sprinted forward, looking back to ensure their safety from behind as well. The boy was holding Beth’s other hand while the other girl held onto the boy's. 

"Tony Stark? You mean, Iron Man?" Her voice was full of awe, the fearful tremble barely noticeable.

"Yeah." If the situation wasn't so dire, he may have smiled. (He did anyway.)

_“Through the door and take the hall to the right.”_

Peter pushed the doors open, the empty hall almost eerie as they left the panicking captives behind the double doors, only one or two spilling through to run straight ahead. He steered his three to the right, the lights flickering. “That can’t be good.”

_“Someone is coming toward you!”_

“Crap!” Peter looked to his right, then left, pulling Beth in front of him and giving her and the other two a gentle shove into a dark room before he followed. The first part of the room was another lab, a metal table in the middle, but there was a doorway on the back wall, and they filtered through it to put more space between them and the approaching guards. Peter came in behind them and moved past and into the center of the room, turning to find a good place to hide. There was a cabinet in the corner. He would never be able to fit but at least the two children could. “Here. Get in here!” He whispered harshly after opening the door and finding only two shelves split the inside. The girl went first, crouching and sitting on one side, followed by the boy on the other. At the sound of boots pounding the ground, Peter shoved Beth into the corner by the cabinet and squeezed in beside her. The shadows would help hide them.

Peter leaned out slightly while his mask inched up and back until it was away from his face. The room was dimly lit by the light from the hallway shining into the adjacent room, enough for Peter to watch the shadows moving past. As his gaze followed the myriad of dark masses across the floor, he inadvertently found that they were not the only ones that had chosen these rooms as a place to hide. The man was looking right at him from the other room, his back pressed against the side of a steel cabinet. Guards were still marching by and the man made to move, Peter grabbing his attention again with a vigorous shake of his head. _Stay still, man._

Wide, panicked eyes lingered for a moment before the man turned and grabbed the surface of the cabinet with the intention to peek over the top of it, even with Peter’s constant signals against it. There were items on the countertop that the man wouldn’t be able to see. The edge of his hand caught a tray of instruments and tipped it, metal clattering loudly to the floor. The stranger froze, as did Peter. He heard Beth’s whimper from behind him.

“In here!”  
  
The lights of the other room flared to life and the stranger stood, hands up in surrender. Peter could make out the barrels of guns filtering into view as the guards gathered to apprehend the man while Peter shrank further into their hiding place, feeling Beth tremble at his back.  
  
“Keep your hands up.” Cuffs were brandished as the buzz of a radio signaled an incoming message.  
  
_‘All units. Containment is no longer an option. Eliminate assets, destroy evidence, and evacuate.’_

The guards looked between themselves until one toward the front gave a nod, all weapons lifted. The cornered man shook his head adamantly.

“No, please, _no_!”

The guns fired in rapid succession, painting the sterile white walls with crimson splatters. Peter could only watch, horrified, as the man’s body jerked with the force of each impact, his wide eyes staring at nothing. If Peter moved, he compromised the safety of the others. The young Avenger closed his eyes tightly, guilt strangling his very soul. In moments, the quiet returned and the man collapsed, his face frozen in an expression of shocked terror. Peter couldn’t help but wonder if he had been taken from a family; perhaps a spouse and nephew.

“Sweep the area. Rendezvous point, sector C in 15 minutes.” 

_Crap. Crap. Crap._ Peter pressed himself further into the corner while Beth’s panicked breathing grew louder behind him. Was his suit bulletproof? He had always relied on speed and agility to avoid being shot, but now, he was a human shield. He felt the telltale tingling sensation as the guards drew nearer, hairs standing when they had reached the cabinet. If they opened those doors…

Peter stepped out with his hands up in surrender, an action in which his body had moved before his brain could formulate a plan to follow.  
  
_“What are you doing?!”_

He tried to ignore Beth’s panicked voice in his head and the way she moved forward in the edge of his vision. _“Stay there!”_ Thankfully, she stopped and he could go back to focusing on trying to survive. 

Four guards. Four guns. His eyes flickered to the cartridges on his wrist and then back to the threat. He could probably take down two of them, maybe even three, but the likelihood of doing so without injury was nearly nonexistent—especially if he wanted to keep the other three safe. What seemed like several moments had been mere seconds. The guards began to squeeze their triggers when Peter shot the first threads of webbing toward the two nearest weapons, pulling them from the guard's hands. The guns slid across the floor and the remaining armed guards stepped forward, guns firing in unison. Peter ducked below the projectiles and heard them imbed into the wall behind him as he swept out a leg to take one guard off his feet. He came up underneath the next weapon, grabbing the man at the wrist. There was a _crack_ as the bones snapped and the firearm fell, the heel of Peter’s hand coming up to make contact with the guard’s nose. The man dropped in an unconscious heap. Just as Peter grabbed the barrel of the last gun, something struck him just behind his right ear. 

His vision blurred out to black filtering back to him in waves of color and voices that sounded much too distant to be so close.  
  
_“Peter!”_  
  
Each beat of pain through his skull brought a moment of slowed reality. He saw them dragging Beth from the corner, then she was hovering over him, eyes frantic and mouth moving even though he couldn’t hear what she was saying. If she was trying to reach his thoughts, that too was proving to be futile. The younger children were dragged from the cabinet, falling toward the ground one moment and enclosed in Beth’s arms the next.  
  
“I just want to go home!” The younger girl cried while the boy sobbed loudly, his face hidden. 

Things were approaching normal when Peter shook his head and fought to sit up, a palm out toward the soldiers who had reclaimed their weapons and now had them aimed at the small group. The one with the broken wrist struggled to keep his gun steady, but his eyes promised murder. Peter held up a palm as if it could stop the onslaught of bullets that were soon to rain down upon them, and he moved to curl himself over the others, shielding them as best he could. He squeezed his eyes closed and held on tight. _I’m sorry_ . _I’m so sorry._

“Even _I_ do not sink as low as to murder children.”

 _It can’t be._ Peter’s eyes snapped open and he whirled around, arms still out to protect those behind him. The guards spun toward the doorway where a tall figure leaned against the frame, appearing frightfully calm given the situation. “Loki.” Peter whispered, eyes dramatically wide.  
  
“What is it you mortals say?” The god straightened but didn’t advance. He jerked his head to one side and then the other, cracking his neck before he opened his eyes. “Pick on someone your own size.”  
  
“Take him down!” One of the guards screamed just as Loki grabbed the barrel of the gun, pushing the weapon to the side as it fired. There was a spray of blood but the trickster never stopped moving. He forced the gun back to crash into the face of its wielder, more blood accompanied the sick sound of shattering bone. Bullets were flying, thankfully toward the doorway of the room or Peter and the kids would have surely been casualties, but Loki was moving so quickly that it was impossible to lock onto him. He grabbed the arm of one guard, jerking him forward to elbow him in the face while a long leg disarmed the next. The gun flew toward the huddled group but Peter was fast enough to use a shot of webbing, deflecting it toward the far wall. He covered it with another spray, just to ensure it would not be easily retrieved.  
  
Peter didn’t see how Loki managed to take down that specific guard but when he turned back, the man was on the floor and one guard was left, his gun trembling as he pointed it at the dark-haired trickster that was stalking toward him.  
  
“What... _are_ you?” The man’s voice wobbled as he backed toward the doorway. A devious grin split the god’s face, but he didn’t answer, much to Peter’s surprise. He had taken Loki as the sort of guy to always have a retort, but in this case, the silence was more effective. The guard dropped the weapon and turned to run, obviously not realizing how close he had been to the stone and metal door frame. His head bounced off it with a _thud_ and he staggered back before crumpling. Loki stilled, his back to Peter and the others, but the smirk he was undoubtedly wearing could almost be _felt_ .  
  
Peter lifted himself from the floor, offering a hand to Beth as he watched the trickster. Loki had turned his head slightly toward his shoulder, looking back at them from the corner of his eye. The look had Peter now questioning whether or not Loki had come to the rescue or had simply wanted to kill Peter himself. Still, perhaps he could appeal for the lives of Beth and the others.  
  
“Loki, I—”

The god turned and straightened to his full height. He hadn’t really noticed how _tall_ Loki was until that moment. It was menacing. Unconsciously, Peter spread his arms to protect those behind him as Loki approached. He was a mere few feet away when he stopped and tilted his head, regarding the children in silent scrutiny before looking back to his former cellmate. 

“If your objective is to get yourself killed, Spiderling, then you are certainly on the right path.”  
  
“You came back.” Peter hadn’t meant to say it out loud but there it was. He hadn’t even considered that Loki would return but given recent events, he couldn’t have been more grateful. The god in question rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand, wincing suddenly before the opposite hand clutched his left shoulder. Peter stepped forward but paused, thinking better of it. “You’re hurt.” The first shot, the blood. Loki had been hit.

“It’s nothing.” His hand came away red, but Loki wiped it across his thigh, looking toward the hall. “You seem to have picked up stragglers.”  
  
Peter looked back at the three kids, all huddled together with large eyes that studied the man who had just saved their lives. “Yeah, but they needed help and everyone else was super happy to be out of their cell. They were all just going it alone. I _had_ to help. I mean, they’re kids and I’m sure they have families to get back to. It’s kinda every man for himself in here right now and I—”  
  
Loki pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Please just... _stop talking._ ” 

“Right.”  
  
Sighing, the god jerked his chin to indicate the hall and started walking, Peter motioning for the others to follow as he fell in behind. Loki leaned out, looking one way and then the other before taking a left. They stayed close to the wall as they moved in a single, quiet line with Loki in the lead.  
  
_“I can’t read his thoughts.”_  
  
Peter’s brow furrowed and he gave Beth a questioning glance over his shoulder. She appeared troubled, her eyebrows raising as though she expected an answer. Facing forward once again, Peter came to a halt when Loki stopped in front of him, a fist raised. The trickster leaned around the corner to their left and then opened his hand before dropping it and rounding into the next hall.  
  
_“He’s an alien god. I’m not surprised you can’t Jedi mind trick him.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“A god?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Yeah.”_ He left it at that, though he knew she could probably hear the parts he added to himself. _Maybe there’s more to him than I thought._ Mr. Stark’s view of Loki was not the most flattering and Thor’s, though filled with love and guilt and anguish, had painted his brother to be a mystery. Not much on which to form an opinion. “Hey, Loki?” A noncommittal noise indicated that the god was listening, though he didn’t turn. “I just wanted to say—”

The lights flickered before shutting off completely, what little light the barred windows offered was only sufficient in allowing them to see the most basic features of one another. Loki muttered something along the lines ‘isn’t this lovely?’ before he moved forward, slower than just moments earlier. Peter could see better than the average human in lower lighting and, based on their cell interactions, he knew Loki could as well. However, the children that followed closely behind him were another story. If the way Beth was clinging to the back of his suit was anything to go by, they were struggling.  
  
“There is an exit not far from here.” Loki informed quietly, crouching at yet another corner.

“You found the exit and _still_ came back.” The incredulous tone to Peter’s statement had Loki looking over his shoulder, brow furrowed. It was obvious the god was guarded, impenetrable walls built around his emotions from what Peter could only assume were several of his lifetimes’ worth of psychological trauma. He hadn’t lied to Loki. He _didn’t_ know much of the trickster and his brother but what he _did_ know was that there had been a lot of anger. Yet Thor still loved his brother despite Loki’s checkered past...and that the thunderer mourned his brother still. 

As if sensing Peter’s curiosity, the god scowled and averted his gaze. “Heimskulegt dauðlega.” He hissed with a curl of his lip that the kid couldn’t see but seeing wasn’t necessary. Peter didn’t have to know what it meant to understand that he had hit the proverbial nail right on the head. Disdain had practically dripped from every syllable.

Clearing his throat, Peter muttered “do you think we can make it?” in a hasty attempt to change the subject. There was no answer for a long moment. Loki shifted his weight from side to side before standing. “ _I_ certainly can.” 

_Encouraging._ Peter thought, opening his mouth to voice as much when red illuminated the hall. The emergency systems had kicked on, a distant alarm blaring from outside the building. _Great._ One of the children whimpered, he wasn’t sure which but Beth provided comfort and the crying stopped. He couldn’t rightly blame them for their fear. The situation was dire and they needed an exit, fast. “How far is the—”

Loki and Peter both snapped their heads toward a sound down the hall, the tingling sensation of the teen’s built-in warning system accompanying his excellent hearing. Was that a scream?

“We need to move.” Loki stood, rigid and tense, his fingers flexing for magic he still couldn’t reach.  
  
Peter, still crouched, continued to look back the way that they had traveled. “What _was_ that?”  
  
“Move!” The god reached around Peter to grab Beth’s hand and roughly pulled her to her feet. “Now!” He did the same with the smaller children, shoving all three around the corner and to the left. Peter sat frozen as he watched the dark hallway come alive with activity. Prisoners were running—terrified and screaming. One by one, they were being yanked back and out of sight. Blood splattered across the walls from out of the darkness. “Spiderling!” Loki was grabbing his arm and hauling him upright, dragging him around the corner as the first of the once-humans he had seen on the monitor appeared from the shadows. “ _Go_!” Loki roared as Peter found his feet. 

“Those things used to be people!” The teen announced as they ran. He and Loki had easily caught up with Beth and the others. Her hand was now in his and the god had a child tucked under each arm. The snarls behind them grew closer, every hair standing on end as if the creatures were breathing down the back of his neck.  
  
The dull red of the emergency lights made it hard to see anything ahead of them but Peter could make out the metal handles of the door as they neared. The exit. _Finally_. Loki reared back without breaking stride and kicked the door open with a bare foot, the sunlight nearly blinding them all after so long in the dark confines of their holding cells. Peter’s hand hovered just in front of his face as they barreled out, a quick glance to the right showing him that Loki had his head angled downward with his eyes squinted.  
  
Now they would only have to barricade the door and find—  
  
There were hands all over him just as his senses picked up another form of danger. Shouts came from all directions as he was forced to release Beth’s hand and driven to his knees, a cold metal touch against the back of his neck.  
  
“Stay on the ground!”  
  
“Don’t move!”  
  
The children were crying. Beth was screaming. Loki was fighting. Everything was happening so fast. Peter turned his head, just slightly. He saw the butt of a gun smash into the god’s face, blood splattering as a leg swept underneath Loki to take him off his feet. It was taking five soldiers to detain him. _Five_. As the trickster hit the dirt face-first, Peter’s eyes were drawn to the area behind him. Four black-clad men were placing bars and chains through the handles of the large, metal doors that were shuddering from the efforts of creatures trying to escape.  
  
From the ground, Loki snarled, green eyes wild as they sought out Peter. The kid was on his knees with his forehead nearly touching the ground in front of him. A soldier was above him with a gun pressed against the back of his neck. 

Out of the frying pan and into the fire, it seemed.  
  
“Well, well.”  
  
The soldier above Loki shifted and drove his knee harder into the space between the god’s shoulder blades, the metal bite of his gun leaving a lingering ache in the back of Loki’s skull. Blood pooled beneath his shoulder from the gunshot wound. There was a soldier on each of his arms, the one on his back, and two standing over him with their weapons trained.

But that voice belonged to none of them.  
  
Loki twisted his head, earning more pressure against his skull and several shouts from above him. Polished black shoes approached. The man in the suit. _Of course._

“You put on quite the convincing act, 13.”  
  
“My name is Loki.” The trickster spat, dust blowing up from the ground and coating his lips with each word. “You’d do well to remember it, so you may use it when begging for my mercy before I _rip out your throat_ !”  
  
There was a beat of silence, but Loki was sure it wasn’t because the man was intimidated. Who would be when the source of the threat was currently being subdued at your feet?  
  
“Sedate these two and load them on the jet. Perhaps all was _not_ lost today.” The black shoes turned and walked out of his line of sight, try as he might to follow them.  
  
“And the kids?”  
  
“Shoot them.”  
  
“NO!” Peter shouted as he tried to sit up. Beth and the children cowered, the younger two holding tightly to her waist. Guns were raised and aimed at point blank range. The soldier above Peter drove a knee into his back. There was an angry shout from Loki. It was in that language the god had used earlier and probably wasn’t polite, the teen assumed. "We'll go quietly! Just let them go!"

"Do not claim to speak for me, Spiderling! I have no intention of going _at all_!" Loki hissed, his efforts to break free renewed. He managed to throw the soldier from his back, dragging the others as he struggled to his knees to meet the barrels of the guns aimed between his eyes. Relentless, he fought his way to his feet and put himself between the children and the threat.

"Don't kill him!" A man in a white lab coat ran toward the group with another dressed the same right on his heels. In his hand was a syringe that he tapped as he approached the god. "Just hold him still."  
  
“Please, do try. It worked so well for you the first time.” Loki attempted a sardonic smile as he held out his arms. What the soldiers saw as an invitation, Peter saw as an effort to protect the kids now clinging to the back of the god’s shirt. Narrowed green eyes were watching every move of the soldiers that were slowly forming a semi-circle around the four of them.  
  
“They’re just kids, man, come on!” Peter shouted. He raised off the ground slightly only to be pressed forward again, his hands tucked behind his back. As he pulled against their efforts to cuff him, the teen opened the eye not pressed against the dirt. Loki’s teeth were bared in a snarl, each backwards step he took pushing the children behind him. A guard reached for the young boy, but Loki was lightning fast, shattering the man’s wrist before he could even react to being grabbed.  
  
That momentary distraction was all that was needed. The butt of a gun connected with the side of the god’s knee, bringing him staggering down with a cry.  
  
“Loki!” Peter pushed upward again, throwing the soldier above him off balance.The cuffs slid across the dirt, both men fighting the teen back down. Loki was on the ground again as well, battling to evade the needle the scientist was attempting to use while soldiers continued to pile on top of him.  
  
“Peter!” Beth wrapped her arms around the children and did her best to shield them as guns were once again aimed.  
  
“Fire!” One of the soldiers ordered, followed by a collective cry of “no!”  
  
The sound of glass shattering above had them all looking up, but only for the briefest of moments before they were shielding themselves from the millions of new knives mercilessly raining down. 

Peter was only able to cover his face with one arm, the other pressed at an awkward angle against his back by the weight of one of the soldiers. He had mere seconds to process; the repetitive sounds of something _heavy_ hitting the ground, the weight disappearing from above him, guns firing, screams and shrieks of something inhuman. _Oh no._ Just as he lifted his head, bare, bloody feet were in front of him and he was being hoisted upward.

"Move!" Loki's eyes were wide with raw, desperate emotion as he was shoving Peter away from the carnage. Bodies were flying, blood creeping across the dirt like a drunken spider web. 

"But Beth—" Peter began, his steps slowing as he turned back. A severed head rolled across the ground before it was halted by a twisted, clawed foot. 

"Running, as you should be, you fool!"

Sure enough, Beth was ahead, her hands holding tightly to that of the children as she dragged them behind her. When he began to turn again, he felt Loki's hands on his shoulders, shoving him forward. 

"Don't!" _You can't save them all_ went unsaid. 

It was a difficult fact to accept but if _any_ of them were going to make it out alive, all they could do now was run. More of the creatures were dropping from the upper windows, immediately attacking the first body they could reach. It became a game of dodging the razor-sharp claws and ducking under the twisted, long arms. His spider-sense was going haywire and offered no assistance, a constant buzzing with so many threats present. They only needed to get to the trees; take cover and wait until Mr. Stark could find them. 

It was their only shot. 

“Get to the trees!” Peter waved Beth forward when she turned in search of them. “Get to the—” The creature slammed into him with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. The teen felt the grip give when they reached the ground and used the momentum to roll himself a little further and end in a crouch, the nanotech crawling up over his face. "EDITH, _please_ tell me you got Mr. Stark!"

_"I've tried but I can't get a signal to hold. If the Boss is looking for you, he will have picked up on the SOS, inconsistent as it was."_

Peter watched the creature get to its feet and straighten, only to bow forward and open its maw with a roar. Saliva dripped from jagged fangs, a long tongue rolling out as if tasting the air. 

"Well," the lenses narrowed and Peter tilted his head thoughtfully, "that's better than nothing." Just as the thing made to charge, Loki was leaping onto its back with a roar of his own. 

_"Peter!"_

The teen spun in search of Beth, her voice frantic in his head. He spotted her just inside the treeline, the younger children a few steps behind her and nearly hidden from view. _"Keep going! Find a place to hide!"_

_"But what about you and...him?"_

Peter turned to find Loki dragging a large shard of glass across the creature's throat with a spray of blood, leaping off it's back as it fell, only to be tackled by another. 

"Help me!" One of the men in white coats was backing toward the building, his comrades lying in pieces around him. One of the creatures snarled as it crept toward him, claws brandished.

_"We'll catch up. Do not come out for anyone but me or Iron Man!"_

_"But_ —"

_"Go!"_

There was no time to ensure she had listened. Peter ducked under a grab for his head, crawling between the monster's legs. When the creature bent forward to grab at him, the teen rolled and landed a kick to its backside. The once-human toppled forward with a grunt, webbing sealing its clawed fingers to the backs of its legs. Peter didn’t wait for the thing to attempt getting back up. He leapt onto the wall of the building above the cornered man’s head, shooting webbing onto the face of the creature. It staggered back and away, clawing at its own skin without regard, deep scratches opening as it tried to rid its face of the sticky substance. Peter flipped forward and twisted in the air to land facing the man, his mask receding to reveal his furious glare. “I should have let that thing have you.” The scientist was crouched, hands up in front of his face. The teen grabbed the lapel of the white coat and yanked the man up, shoving him to the right. “Get out of here.” He knew it was possible he was just freeing a maniac to commit the same crimes over again. Or perhaps his mercy would be the deciding factor toward a life reformed. He watched with aching uncertainty as the man staggered away.  
  
“You let him go.” Peter turned to find Loki approaching. The large shard of glass he had used as a weapon fell from his grasp before he used the back of that hand to wipe at the blood under his nose. His expression was less than thrilled. “Why didn’t you leave him to his fate? It was more than what he deserved.”  
  
“That’s not how I do things, Loki.” Peter allowed the mask to cover his face once again as more creatures dropped from the windows to join the ones on the ground. They were cutting through the soldiers with relative ease, murdering and mutilating. It did not seem they were killing to feed, but simply because that is what they were programmed to do. Peter swallowed hard and turned toward the path Beth and the children had taken. He and Loki were surrounded; surrounded by blood, bodies, and monsters. “We can argue morality later. Let’s just get out of—”  
  
Glass rained down on them, both of them ducking their heads and raising their arms to shield themselves. The once-human landed mere feet away, roaring before diving straight in for the kill. Peter jumped up and latched onto the wall while Loki leapt backward to land in a crouch, leaving him the easier target. Readying to evade the claws, the god snarled but held his ground as the beast charged. Loki cried out, a war cry as he braced himself for an impact that never came. The creature was within reach when it crashed face down onto the dirt, sliding backwards. Loki’s face twisted in confusion before he caught sight of the webbing around the thing’s ankles as they lifted. Peter was perched on a security light fixture, hoisting the beast to dangle upside down. When the glowing lenses looked his way, Loki gave a nod.  
  
“Can we _please_ get out of here now?” After jumping to the ground, Peter secured the long claws by webbing the thing’s hands together from a safe distance. He was smiling behind the mask, turning toward where he had last seen Loki standing.  
  
“Spiderling, _move_ !”  
  
The god was running toward him, still so fast even injured and without his magic. He didn’t make it. The breath left Peter’s lungs in a rush as he was hit from the side, body spiraling through the air to smack into the building with an audible _crack_ . He could hear Loki yelling. He could hear him _fighting_ but it was distant; drowned out by the flood of pain as he tried to inhale. Peter did not know how long he laid there before he was being pulled up, shaken, slapped. He wanted to respond but the pain; everything _hurt_ .  
  
“Spiderling, get up!”  
  
Loki slapped him again, only this time, he reacted. Peter shook his head and groaned, breath hitching as he was forced to his feet. Definitely broken ribs. Loki was nearly holding him on his feet while Peter struggled to find his balance. Limp and uncoordinated, the teen caught sight of what had to have been the beast that hit him. It was lying face down with that large shard of glass through its eye. Not only had Loki tried to warn him, he had saved him. 

“On your feet. Come on, we have no time for this.” The god was all nerves, movements rushed and less than gentle. They were in danger and Peter could barely stand. When his legs failed him once again, Peter gave Loki an unsuspected shove, resulting in his falling to the ground while the god gawked at him in disbelief.  
  
“Get out of here, Loki.” Peter rolled to his stomach and pushed up onto all fours, the effort leaving him panting. “Find Beth. Get her and those kids somewhere safe.” There was a moment where he thought the trickster had listened. Then those bare feet where in his peripheral and hands were under his arms. 

“You are _not_ dying while expecting _me_ to run to the aid of children _you_ chose to save.”  
  
Peter cried out when he was hauled upright again, his legs accepting a fraction of his weight. He staggered while angling to look at the dark-haired man. Loki could have easily ran, saved himself and left Peter and the children to die. _Thank you_ , Peter wanted to say but barely opened his mouth before his eyes shifted, lenses widening in horror. “Loki—” The god sensed the urgency, shoving Peter out of the way and spinning to face the creature that had crept up behind them.  
  
It was all slow motion from there.  
  
Loki had barely turned before the once-human sprang up, driving its elongated claws into the god’s abdomen and forcing him back until he hit the wall. Loki didn’t scream. He barely made a sound aside from the grunt when his back met the unforgiving surface.  
  
“Loki!” Peter struggled to gain his footing, making it upright only to fall back down. “Loki, hold on!” He looked around for something— _anything_ —to help, eyes landing on a gun a few feet away. He began to crawl toward it when a new sound pierced his ears. _Now_ , Loki was screaming, being lifted up the wall by the claws in his gut. The inside of his mouth was bright red, blood staining his teeth and dribbling down his chin. With renewed effort, Peter got to his feet and flung himself forward as he started to topple, fingers within inches of the weapon.

Loki’s cries had quietened. He was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when a weapon’s discharge startled him back to the pain engulfing his midsection. His vision was greying at the edges when he felt the pressure against his insides alleviate, his body tumbling heavily—painfully—to the ground. The trickster coughed, every attempt at breath drawing his lungs tighter and tighter until he felt they would soon burst. Blood was thick in his throat, viciously drowning him. Maybe death would actually stick this time…

Peter watched the creature stagger back after the bullet had passed clean through its head, its claws pulling out of Loki in a spray of blood, both bodies tumbling to the ground. He kept the gun in hand, neither of them in any condition to fight off any further attacks. He dragged himself to the fallen god, able to struggle to his knees over Loki’s prone form. He was no medic but the sounds coming from the man’s throat indicated choking, so he quickly struggled to roll Loki onto his side, allowing the blood to splatter onto the sand with the force of coughs and sputters. “Hey, Loki, stay with me, man. Mr. Stark’s gonna be here soon. Right, EDITH?”  
  
_“Still no word. You need to seek medical attention, Peter. Scans indicate three broken ribs and perhaps a pneumothorax.”_  
  
Peter didn’t respond. He stared down at Loki, who was panting shallowly past bloodless lips; eyes rolling behind closed lids.  
  
_“You need to go, Peter.”_  
  
The snarls of the creatures were becoming louder as they searched for their next targets. It only took moments to be spotted. Peter lifted the gun and fired at the closest beast, the squeezing of the trigger followed by a hollow click. He discarded the weapon and grabbed Loki by the shoulders, gathering the god against his chest while EDITH screamed.  
  
_“Peter!”_ _  
_ _  
_ Shielding Loki as best as he could, Peter closed his eyes.  
  
“Activate instant kill!”

* * *

  
  
“Kid, can you hear me?” No response. “Peter?”  
  
_“Sir!”_ _  
_ _  
_ “EDITH, it is _so_ good to hear your voice. Where is he?” Tony stopped the suit in mid-air, repulsors holding him steady as he waited for a response. He had searched and searched since Peter’s disappearance, falling into the classic habits of evading meals and rest in order to find the kid. _His_ kid. Less than a day ago, an SOS beacon from Peter’s suit had been picked up somewhere in the Amazon. It was faint and patchy but enough to lead Tony—Clint and Natasha following in the quinjet— to the general vicinity. With otherwise radio silence, he was afraid that the beacon had been a last ditch effort before something terrible had happened.

 _“I’ve uploaded the coordinates, Sir. Please hurry.”_ _  
_ _  
_ Tony was already following the path, heart rate spiking when he could see the smoke boiling over the trees. “Is he hurt?”  
  
_“There are indeed severe injuries.”_  
  
What he saw on the ground was heart-stopping: blood splatters and body parts, hideous humanoid creatures running toward a common destination. What he could make out of the suits on the deceased definitely appeared to be HYDRA. 

"Tony, are you seeing this?" Nat's voice was in his ear, laced with disgust. 

"Unfortunately." The suit began to descend, the quinjet remaining at the same altitude. “EDITH, what can you tell me?”  
  
_“HYDRA experimentation, sir.”_ _  
_ _  
_ “Yeah, I get that. Can we save them?”  
  
_“I’m afraid not.”_ _  
_ _  
_ “Exactly what I was hoping you _wouldn’t_ say. Alright, Nat,” metal arms at the suit’s sides, Tony plunged downward, “you know what to do as soon as I’m clear with the kid.”

 _“Sir, there_ are _other survivors. Four, to be exact.”_ _  
_ _  
_ “Hold that thought, Nat. EDITH, take me to Peter first.”  
  
_“With pleasure, sir.”_

* * *

  
  
Tony could feel his pulse accelerate when he got his first glimpse of the kid. Four arachnid-like legs were protruding from the back of the suit, stabbing and batting away the creatures that were trying to get close enough for the kill. Peter was bowed forward over a body, unmoving. Dread settled in Tony’s gut like a stone. He blasted the closest creature with a repulsor beam and landed far enough away to avoid the suit’s deadly defense mechanism.  
  
“EDITH, override security protocols and disable instant kill.”  
  
_“Right away, sir.”_ _  
_ _  
_ “Kid, can you hear me?” No answer. Tony’s eyes flickered to the charging beasts, maintaining his repose as the A.I. worked on his demand. “Nat, Clint, can I get some cover fire?” He asked while shooting down another creature. The quinjet passed over, dust kicking up as weapons fired into the mass of once-humans. Tony continued to aid until the legs retracted into Peter’s suit, then he was kneeling next to the kid with a metal hand gripping Peter’s shoulder.

“No!” Peter threw back an elbow that Tony barely dodged, not that it would have hurt him. The mask crawled back away from the teen’s face.  
  
“Whoa there, Training Wheels.” Big brown eyes were staring at him, filled with such relief that it made Tony’s heart clench. “Don’t assault the rescue party.” Peter’s disappearance had come too close on the heels of reversing the snap. When they arrived back at Tony’s house, there would definitely be an in depth discussion regarding Peter’s continued affiliation with the Avengers.  
  
“M-Mr. Stark, there are kids. They’re hiding. Trees.” Peter turned his face away once again, still clutching the body below him.  
  
“Nat, Peter says there are some kids in the trees.”  
  
“On it.” Came the quick reply, though Peter couldn’t hear the other comms. 

"If they're out there, Nat and Clint will get them." Tony pulled gently against Peter in an attempt to get a better look at both the kid and the other victim but Peter would not be moved.Tony cast a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure no creatures were nearby. “EDITH, give me something.”

_“Three broken ribs with possible pneumothorax. Fractured left ulna. Multiple contusions and lacerations."_

_Definitely need to get him out of here._ "Listen, kid, we only have a small window before those wildebeests are back on top of us. I need to get a look at your pal and get you both—"

"Promise you'll help him."

Tony felt his heart sink. Why would Peter even begin to think Tony would abandon an injured person? "Peter, why—"

"I...need you to promise me. Promise that you will help him to the... best of your ability and that you... won't let anyone hurt him." The teen was sounding more and more breathless by the moment. Though he didn't understand, Tony nodded. 

"Tony, we have the kids. Three of them." Barton radioed, though Tony barely heard. "On our way back to you. Do you have Parker?"

"You have my word, kid. Wanna tell me what this is about now?" 

The tension began to bleed out of Peter, along with his strength, his hold slackening. "Don't...touch...the collar."

"Peter!" Tony allowed the other man to fall from Peter's hold while he held the kid close. "Stay with me, kid. Don't you dare—"

Tony fell silent, his frantic shaking of Peter coming to an abrupt halt. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Dark hair, tangled and dirty, framed a slender face with those cheekbones of doom and that angular jawline. Plain, tattered clothing rested on a slender, lean frame that he could almost envision donning green leather and golden metal. There was absolutely _no_ doubt in his mind as his mouth silently formed each syllable of a name.

"Nat. Clint. You are _not_ going to believe this."

* * *

“This is the second time we were told he was dead!” Clint paced around the rear compartment of the quinjet. His white-knuckle grip on his bow was where Tony’s attention remained, having already been forced to remove the weapon from the archer’s grasp the moment he had boarded with the limp demi-god in tow.

“I don’t know how or why. We need to reach Thor, but I promised the kid I would take care of Cuckoo’s Nest over there. I intend to keep that promise.” When Clint did nothing but go still, Tony sighed. “Put away the bow, Merida.” A tense moment passed; then another.  
  
“He’s right, Clint.” Natasha had turned her head towards the two, but kept her eyes on the clouds in the jet’s path.  
  
“Not you too.” Clint barked, exasperated and beyond irate.  
  
“We can deal with this when we get back to the mansion.” When her longtime friend still made no move to cooperate, Nat added, “We’ll make sure he is properly restrained until we can reach Thor.” 

Another moment of Clint looking between Tony and Natasha before a jerk of his arm folded the bow into a more compact version that he could connect to his quiver. “Fine.” One last look at the injured Loki before Clint stalked off to the furthest seat and plopped down heavily, crossing his arms and staring at the hatch. 

Tony sighed and leaned against the small entryway behind the pilot’s seat. A constant feed of vitals marqueed on the display, both Peter and Loki maintaining stable but critical condition.  
  
“How are you holding up?” Natasha’s voice rang through, startling the inventor. Still focused on the bodies strapped to the gurneys, Tony slumped, just barely managing to avoid sliding to the floor.  
  
“Just get him back to me and we’ll deal with the rest of this disaster after.”  
  
Natasha cast him a quick glance and then pressed several buttons before turning to face him as autopilot took over their course. “I know it’s not easy to be on the frontlines one day and then—”  
  
“That has nothing to do with this.” And just like that, Tony went rigid. 

Or rather, _the suit_ did.

“It’s only been a few weeks since—”  
  
“Don’t go there.”  
  
“Pepper said you—”  
  
“Of course, you’ve talked to Pepper about this.”  
  
“We only want you to—”  
  
“ _I should have been there!”_ Natasha’s eyes softened but she stayed silent as her friend pushed away from the wall and began to pace the small area. “I should have protected him! What good am I now?! Behind a screen and control panel, flying robots to fight battles when it’s a _battle_ to _walk_ from my room to my daughter’s! When I can't hear her say she loves me if she's on my right! When I can barely _see_ to make repairs to the machines and weapons everyone depends on!”

A moment passed before the agent stood from her chair and took hold of each side of the suit’s helmet, a gentle smile on her normally schooled features. Natasha found smiling easier following the war. She had too much for which to be thankful. Natasha had given her life for the cause. Steve hadn't been forthcoming with the details of her return. Only that he had found a way while on his quest to replace the stones. "Tony, look at me.”  
  
“I _am_ looking at you,” came the sharp reply. Tony had arguably made the greatest of sacrifices. His activation of the improvised gauntlet had left him with still healing burns over 80% of the right side of his body. His sight was impaired while his right ear could hear no more. His right leg could hardly bear weight, forcing the use of a cane. Due to the weakness of his right arm, a wheelchair was recommended but Tony had drawn the line there.  
  
“I know you, Anthony Stark, and _you_ are slouched in your chair, glaring at your cane against the workstation and most certainly _not_ looking at the screen.”

Silence.  
  
“Are you looking _now_ ?”  
  
“Yes.” Tony sounded so small, so fragile that it made her heart clench. Would he _ever_ be the same?

"You saved the world. You were a hero and you paid for it. You have scars but you're _alive_ and you're still trying. You're still a part of this. Being part of this team… this _family_ is not about being _useful_. Have you met Lang?" She had nothing but respect for Ant-man and his abilities. He just also happened to be incredibly easy to pick on. Still, uncomfortable silence ensued. For a moment, she was certain the suit would power down and there would be nothing further spoken until they arrived back in New York.

"What are you now? My therapist?" He quipped. Natasha could practically hear the smile.

And she was glad for it. She would entertain any boost in the man's spirits while it lasted.

Unfortunately, it never lasted long. 

" _No one_ wants that job." They laughed together, fighting back the storm for another day. 

* * *

The world that greeted him upon clawing his way into some relative state of consciousness was distorted; too bright colors with moving shapes he could not identify during the brief moments he was able to keep his eyes open. A sound not unlike the roar of the falls that surrounded Asgard’s borders occupied his ears for a time, filtering into hushed voices uttering mostly indecipherable words. 

_A television?_ His weary brain supplied after another few moments. He blinked sluggishly in an attempt to bring some clarity to his vision but soon gave up the endeavor and closed his eyes. _Where am I?_ Loki drew in a deep breath to calm his rapidly increasing heart rate. Well, he tried to, rather. Pain raced through his midsection and his lungs felt dry and frail. The coughing fit that resulted had him nearly coming up off the soft surface to fold in on himself while his seidr rushed to assess the pained area. 

Wait. 

His _seidr?_

Yes, it was there, flowing in limited measures but there nonetheless. Tendrils flared from his core like crisp, cool water, rejuvenating and rehydrating a body that had been too long denied. Breathing became slightly easier. His clouded mind cleared. 

"You're awake."

Loki visibly tensed, eyes now wide and staring at what had to be a chair. The form occupying it shifted closer, and he instinctively reeled while still struggling to see clearly. 

"Easy. It's just me, man. It's Peter." For a moment, Loki didn’t move. His eyes narrowed, fingers curling and straightening against the white sheets, but he stayed still long enough for Peter to slowly return to a seated position in an attempt to seem unthreatening as the god sorted through his memories. “You...remember me, right?”

Another beat passed before Loki’s brow furrowed and his posture relaxed. “Spiderling.” The blurry image of the teen began to clear, his worried expression coming into focus. That feeling stirred within Loki's chest again and this time, he pondered it. He’d felt it before…with Thor. He had felt the deep, throbbing concern and overwhelming relief with the golden oaf before that fateful day on the Bifrost. When Thor had— No, when _he_ had—

“Are you listening?” 

Peter’s voice cut through his thoughts. Loki found the kid leaning forward, head tilted and expression suggesting he was awaiting a response. How long had he been talking? “I—”

“I asked how you were feeling. You—well, _we_ took a pretty decent clobbering and it was touch and go for a while, but Mr. Stark said Dr. Banner was sure you’d be fine.”  
  
Ignoring the question, Loki sat up, moving slowly when his wounds pulled painfully. “Where _am_ I?” The area looked vaguely familiar yet he couldn’t place it. Truthfully, he wasn’t surprised. His once brilliant mind was now nothing more than a fractured mess. Feeling a miniscule pain in the crook of his elbow, he looked down, eyeing the tubing that entered his skin with suspicion. Loki reached for it but stopped short when the bracelets came into view. The IV forgotten, he raised both hands to eye level, green eyes darting back and forth between the contraptions.

“Avengers Mansion. They brought us here after— hey, calm down. Loki, dude, you need—”  
  
Loki’s hands had already moved to his own throat, fingertips pulling at the metal they found there. “Why are these— _how_ do I have access to my seidr?” His breaths were coming too fast, too shallow. One prison had been traded for another.  
  
“It took a lot of convincing to keep you away from Ross. Tony needed _something_ and you weren’t getting any better before he removed them. I was awake the second day but you—”  
  
“Who is—How long have I been here?” Hands still gripping the wretched collar, Loki turned to Peter. “Spiderling, _how long_ ?”  
  
The teen swallowed hard. “Nearly a week.” He could feel the anxiety, thick and suffocating—or was that Loki’s magic? The god’s body appeared to vibrate, outlined in a shimmering golden-green that fluctuated around him in sharp waves. _Oh, crap._ “This is exactly why he recalibrated the tech, Loki. You have to calm down. You’re safe here.”  
  
“Am I?” The trickster snapped, eyes wild. “ _Am I_?”

Peter looked around the room frantically. “Listen, man, FRIDAY is watching. If she sees you going all Dark Phoenix on me, she's going to call Mr. Stark and zap you with that thing."

_"Peter, are you in need of assistance?"_

_Crap._ "No, thanks, FRI. I got this." Peter smiled sweetly at the ceiling, the expression faltering when he looked back to the god. Loki was doing the opposite of calming down, tearing back the sheets and turning to throw his legs over the side of the bed. The bedside table and IV pole began to vibrate, loudly tapping against the white tiled floor. "Loki, you _have_ to listen to me." Peter rounded the bed and stood close enough to prevent Loki from standing. 

“Move.”

Peter shook his head, stubbornly refusing to budge. “Just take a breath.” Loki’s eyes were squeezed shut, clenched fists against the sides of his head. “I know you don’t like the regulators but if you could just _show_ Mr. Stark that you’re not all bad then maybe he would—” The god surged to his feet, forcing Peter to stumble back into a graceless tumble onto his backside.

“I said _move_ .”  
  
_“I’m afraid I must intervene. Mr. Odinson cannot be allowed to—”_

“Do not call me that!” Loki roared, eyes roaming over the ceiling as he yanked the IV from his arm. A thin ring lit up around his irises, glowing that same eerie green. 

Peter held up a hand, desperate to diffuse the situation without involving anyone else. “FRI, _please_ , just... _one_ more minute.” Loki’s head remained tilted upward toward the ceiling though his eyes— _those are freaky_ —had slid down to the teen on the floor. “Loki, I swear to you that this won’t be as bad as you think! _Nothing_ is going to happen to you here! Just...give it a chance.” The god remained still for a heartbeat before leveling his gaze on the door and unsteadily sidestepping Peter. “Loki! _Loki_ !” Though he walked slowly—more like limping, really—Loki never stopped, hand reaching for the control mechanism that held the door closed.  
  
_“I’m sorry, Peter. I have no choice.”_

Peter tensed, gritting his teeth. “Just _one more minute_ , FRI!” 

Loki’s fingers barely brushed the panel when the door slid open, the unmistakable silhouette of Tony Stark revealed on the other side. 

_Double crap._ Peter clambered to his feet and rushed to place himself between his mentor and his new comrade. His own injuries left him slow and uncoordinated. He nearly toppled forward in his haste to intervene. “Mr. Stark, this isn’t what it looks like!”

“Really?” Came the cool reply. “Because it looks like our guest was about to make a hasty check out without paying the bill.”

Loki had taken a step back but otherwise remained rooted to his spot, eyes narrowed as the inventor stepped into the room. The man leaned heavily on the cane in his scarring right hand, a severe limp making his entrance take longer than Loki truly had the patience to entertain. “Stark.” The name rolled off his tongue with equal amounts of smoothness and venom. “I would say what a pleasure it is to see you again—except it isn’t.”

“Can it, Rudolph.” Tony hobbled over to a nearby chair and gingerly lowered himself to sit, breathing heavily as though he had run the entire way. The right side of his face and head was a myriad of scars, what was left of his ear hidden among the pitted waves of healing skin. Loki could only assume the flesh he couldn’t see was more of the same. Stark’s right eye was gray and lifeless while his left looked the god up and down. His lips curled into that famous smirk and Loki found himself wishing the damage had taken that as well. No such luck. “What’s your hurry?” Tony asked, placing his left hand atop his right on the cane. 

If Stark was waiting for a comment on his appearance, he would be left wanting. Thanos was no easy adversary. The fact that _any_ Avengers survived _at all_ spoke volumes of their durability. Loki was no fool and gave credit where it was due. “I simply have no desire to remain here as your token of amusement.”

“So, you think you can just walk out that door and we’ll just be all cool and shit?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips before Loki continued, irritably. “I personally do not care if you are ‘cool and shit,’ Stark. Now, if you don’t mind—”

“I _do_ mind.” Tony didn’t stand but all mirth had faded from his expression. “Not even a _thank you_?”

“For the alterations on the tools that will be used to ensure not only my imprisonment but likely my cooperation in your do-good efforts for a planet I have no desire aiding _or_ conquering? You have my never-ending gratitude, Man of Iron.” Loki made to step around Peter, only for the kid to place himself back in his path. 

“Please, just sit down.” Peter pleaded, earning a dramatic eye roll from the taller man.

“Spiderling, you are quickly becoming a nuisance.”

“He’s the only reason you’re not locked up at the mercy of Ross and his Raft.”

Loki growled, swaying a bit as he turned back toward Tony. “ I didn’t _ask_ for his help!” 

“He said as much.”

“Loki, you don’t look so hot, man. Just—”

“I am leaving.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Try and stop me, Stark.”

“Need I remind you of the hardware around your neck?”

“So perfectly proving my point! I will not remain here and be—”

“Loki?”

That was _not_ Peter’s voice. Loki’s stomach bottomed out, his green eyes remaining on Stark even as he saw a figure step into the doorway. Peter moved, still within reach but out of the path between Loki and the newcomer. 

“Is it….really you?”

He felt the sting in his traitorous eyes, nostrils flaring as he fought to control his emotions. 

“Brother?”

“I am _not_ your—” He turned his head before he could stop himself, the words dying on his lips as Thor stepped into the room. Beard and hair long and unkempt, his clothing something that would be classified as Midgardian sleepwear: plaid flannel pants, a dark sweater, a robe, and slippers. The smell of alcohol wafted into the room, clinging to the Thunderer who swayed as he stood perfectly still. The added weight around his midsection was noticeable even through the loose clothing. As Loki watched, Thor’s transformation continued as his eyes—one the brilliant blue he had always known while the other was an unfamiliar gold, plagued with a scar both above and below—filled with sadness and then went unfocused before clarity returned and he continued to stare. 

“Loki.” 

Thor took another step and reached out momentarily before closing his fingerless-gloved hand into a fist and allowing it to drop back to his side. Loki was looking at him as if he were a stranger. But wasn’t he? This was not _his_ Loki, he knew that. Stark had explained that much. _This_ Loki had befriended Peter Parker in a matter of days. _This_ Loki had nearly given his life for that of another. No, this was not _his_ Loki just after the Battle of New York. Still...how could he be _so_ different? 

“Loki.” He repeated, taking another step forward. 

Loki retreated back a step, eyes narrowing. 

The two studied one another in tense silence before both voices spoke in unison. 

“What the Hel happened to you?”

**Author's Note:**

> Part two will be up sometime between now and the year 2025.


End file.
